


The Truest Friends

by Erithe (Reithe)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Multi, Other, Sad, The Fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2905646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reithe/pseuds/Erithe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night after the visit to the waterfall with Solas, Varric notices something awry with the Inquisitor and calls in a friend to help. Initially written as a response to the Solas romance, but has turned into something entirely different as things progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,_  
 _Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel._  
~ Shakespeare

The fire snapped and growled as his pen scratched across the parchment, each little point of light and thought warring with the rest to be etched onto the page. Varric had grown accustomed to choosing the words that pleased him best, though it was hard to tell the others no. This night, with Skyhold wrapped in starlight and most of its inhabitants asleep in their beds, he was trying to capture what it had been like in the overgrown yet still exhilarating expanse of the Temple of Mythal. It was difficult to capture the feeling of awe that had drawn the party deeper into the ancient, holy space as the Inquisitor lead them along the path of the pilgrims. Cursing, he tossed yet another scrap into the fire, watching it curl inward on itself as it blackened.

A door along the nearly empty great hall opened and swift, almost silent footsteps swept past him. He lifted his head, caught a glimpse of a sleeve drawn across cheeks that gleamed with tears, saw the brows down-turned, and her lips compressed. Varric put down his pen. He'd seen that expression before, but not on Rhivyn Lavellan. He'd seen it on Hawke, after the destruction of the Chantry.

"Dammit," he muttered, hearing the door that lead to the downstairs hall or to Josephine's office, and sighed. He had a feeling he knew where she was going. "You," he said, nudging one of the serving boys who was asleep in a corner. "Go see if Ser Dorian is in the tower and tell him Varric wants to talk to him. In the liquor closet."

The boy grunted and nodded, wiping at his eyes, "Ye want Ser Dorian. Wine cellar," he repeated sleepily and trotted off.

 

* * *

 

A shadowy room, cool and smelling of old wine and beer, the cellar had been stocked by the Inquisitor herself on their travels. He saw that the Warden swill and the Tevinter stocks had been rifled and rubbed a hand across his jaw. Elves were light weights ... until they started killing dragons with Qunari, but a bottle of the swill alone would be enough to knock anyone on their backside.

"I take it you've not invited me into the depths in order to play at secret assignations, Tethras?" DOrian drawled, inspecting his shirt cuffs with an elegant air that Varric secretly enjoyed, but publicly mocked. Dorian looked up, a sudden realization widening his eyes. "Or does the great author intend assassination? Is this the new plot of one of your novels: The murder of a great Tevinter mage in the depths of beautiful Skyhold?"

"No, though now that you mention it, I should arrange just that. For research," Varric replied, lips quirking for a moment only to turn down as he remembered why they were here. "Look, we a bit of a ... problem."

Dorian's eyebrows drew down and he tilted his head, "We? What sort of problem do you and I share that should bring us to the wine cellar in the deepest dark of the night? It must be serious for you to go to all that trouble, Varric."

"Well," Varric took a breath, "Remember how you thought she was sweet on the apostate ...?"

"Oh," Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing. "I believe them to be quite in love, actually."

"NO kidding," the dwarf rubbed the bridge of his nose. "She came back just now ... crying. Looking like the world had ended. You know that look?"

"Shit," was all the mage said, hands dropping in shock. "Where is she?"

"Somewhere down here ... I think ..." Varric poked his head out of the wine cellar. "The old library?"

 

* * *

 

The sounds of sobbing greeted their ears when the two men approached the dimly lit space that lead off the dining hall. Lights flickered and there was a clink, a pause in the crying, and then another clink as the elf took a drink and sat the bottle down beside her. Tears flowed down her face as she sat there, on the floor, her back against the books and the candle light flickering off the line of her brow and nose. Dorian noticed before Varric that something about her had changed, and drew in a breath, pointing to his face. The Vallaslin that had curled around the elf's left eye was gone, all tracery of the pretty scroll work disappeared as though it had never been there. Instead of ink, there were only tears gleaming along her cheeks. When Varric saw it, he caught his breath.

"Oh shit."

"Quiet, dwarf," Dorian said, dropping to the ground next to Lavellan, heedless of his fine robes. He touched her cheek, even as she refused to look at him, then wrapped her in his arms, laying a sweet kiss on her forehead. She hiccoughed. "Now, now. Tell Dorian who broke you heart so we can murder them most heinously, your Worship."

She tried to laugh, a sound that made Varric wince, and then buried her head in Dorian's chest. The dwarf sat down beside them, taking one of her strong, archer's hands into his own and holding it gently. For a while, the three of them sat while she cried, Dorian making soothing sounds and Varric concentrating very hard on being comforting. Eventually, she got it out: "Solas loves me. He ... he didn't use me. Just ... j-just ... he can't ... he let me go."

The last was a whisper, as though torn from her chest. "He said he doesn't want me distracted. So ... he let me go. He thought it would make me angry, give me a reason to fight."

"That's not it," Dorian and Varric said together. She looked up then, smiling crookedly, heartbreakingly.

"No. It cannot be. But there is nothing to be done about it. I ... I love him. He loves me. But he walked away." Her lips compressed and she took several deep lungfuls of air through her nose, fighting the urge to break into more tears.

"You know, Varric and I love you, don't you? While we may not or will not please your lady-bits, we can certainly give you a reason to fight, should you need one beyond the usual 'saving the world' ideas," Dorian teased gently, smiling back.

"He's got that right," Varric agreed. "Just let it out, Inquisitor. We won't tell a soul, and we'll make sure you get home all right."

 

* * *

 

Dawn was breaking over the mountains when they finally put her to bed. She slept fitfully, drunkenly, clothed in her wrinkled, tear-stained castle-wear, but she was finally calm. Dorian watched her from the doors to the balcony, arms folded across his chest, his shoulder propped against the door frame. Varric pulled the covers over her shoulders, then went to join the Tevinter mage.

"Thank you," he said, looking out toward the pinkening sky in the distance. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

"No need," Dorian smiled, still watching her sleep, his eyes distant in thought. "I would move mountains for that woman. It pains me to see her so ... distraught."

"Yeah," The dwarf shook his head. "I've seen distraught before and ... hell. I can't stand it. It tears a guy up inside and there's not much you can do."

"I don't know about that. At least she had someone to comfort her, to hear her pain. That's more than a lot of people get, you know?"

"Heh," Varric smiled. "The only bad part about this is we can't take his head off."

"Yet."

"Shall we make a date of it, my Tevinter friend?" Varric held out a hand to Dorian.

"Indeed we shall," Dorian replied, shaking Varric's offered hand with a surprisingly strong grip.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Wasn't actually intending to do a Chapter 2, but ... then I thought ... why not! So here t'is. Enjoy.

_All discarded lovers should be given a second chance, but with somebody else._  
Mae West

* * *

 

A long time ago, in a Circle Tower on the edge of a lake, he'd often found himself watching a particular elf, one of his charges, as she did what mages do in Circle Towers: read, study, chat with friends, and study with her masters. Nothing terribly different than any other mage in the tower, except this was the one who caught his attention and held it. She smiled at him in the hallways, asked him questions now and then, and he had loved the attention, the distraction from his duties and the knowledge that something awful might happen and it would fall to him to fix it.

It wasn't exactly smiled upon for a Templar and a mage to be more than friends, considering the one might have to kill the other should the unthinkable occur. So Cullen had kept his thoughts to himself, relief that she made it through her harrowing with such ease turning to sorrow when she found herself forced to join the Wardens. That she'd saved him later, in his darkest hour, gave the entire episode of unrequited love a certain bittersweet twist that he had never quite resolved. It only made it worse that he was again watching an elf, again hiding his true feelings, and …also again, losing terribly at Wicked Grace.

Cullen growled and turned his eyes away from where the Inquisitor was sitting near the fire with a book propped on her knees, her hair down and hiding her face as she traced something along the pages with a finger. Dorian and Varric, having already gone through half a keg of beer, were giving him evil, if not quite sober, grins from over the tops of their cards.

"Cheating? Really? Is that how you treat an old friend?" Cullen asked, laying his cards down face first onto the table. It occurred to him that the dwarf and the Tevinter had been joined at the hip for the last week or more, whispering like school children on a near constant basis.

"Who says we're cheating?" Dorian smiled, teeth flashing in the firelight as he leaned forward. "Who saaays we have to with your attention constantly …" his eyes drifted toward the elf by the fire, "… elsewhere?"

Varric hooted and scooped his pile of coins across the table and into his purse, whistling tunelessly. "You know, you really ought to do something about that gob-smacked expression on your face, Commander. Iron Bull might think a dragon got lost in there."

He shut his mouth with a click of his teeth, feeling as the heat rushed into his face. "It's really none of your concern," He began, but Dorian's hand shot out, palm forward.

"Peace, Commander," he said, smiling a little. "I'm afraid we let our humor get away from us. Actually … I'm a little curious about something."

"Aren't you always?" Cullen muttered, reaching for his mug and sloshing the contents around dubiously. "I can't imagine it will be good for my ego, whatever it is."

"Why _haven't_ you pursued her?" Dorian asked, eyes gleaming with a familiar intensity that he normally reserved for Tevinter, the Inquisition, and his favorite boots. "We've … ah … noticed your interest, so to speak."

"It's a little hard to miss," Varric added, chuckling to himself.

"I don't see how that's any of your …"

"It's our Lady Inquisitor, Cullen," Dorian interrupted smoothly. "Of _course_ it's our business."

"It would be unprofessional," Cullen answered, shrugging. This was the answer he'd practiced in his head while distracting himself with work. "And … there are reasons beyond that. I would not be good for her."

They blinked at him, Dorian's eyebrow lifting nearly to his hairline before he spluttered, "Hah! Is that _all_? Cullen, you're probably the only person in the castle who would be _good_ for her … aside from Josephine, but I don't believe a lady is who our Inquisitor desires, do you?"

"She has Solas." Cullen's lips thinned, his jaw setting stubbornly. "Have neither of you noticed the way they speak to one another? How she lights up when he praises her or how she clings to every word he speaks?" His temper was fraying and he struggled to keep his voice low, not wanting to draw her attention to his outburst. "It seems my lot in life to lose everything to apostates, one after the other," He said, looking down into the amber depths of his drink before lifting it to his lips and knocking the contents back. It burned pleasantly into his stomach, warming him.

"Man," Varric said, after a moment. "You haven't lost her. Not this one. Not yet. Solas was an aberration and, well …"

"Solas broke her heart," Dorian finished for Varric. "He removed her vallaslin and then he walked away. Have you not noticed?"

"I noticed," Cullen looked away. "I thought they had argued. She sometimes does argue with Solas. I wasn't sure about the markings being gone, but she's been wandering around the castle, pretending to be determined and calm when she's anything but."

"Can you send her into battle against Corypheus knowing her heart is broken?" Dorian asked. "Cassandra and Leliana both have mentioned that something is off, but she hasn't breathed a word of it to them. Not yet. I'm not sure she will, to be honest. She talks to you, Cullen. She laughs more easily at your jokes, enjoys your company, and … well, she's a woman. That scar of yours …" Dorian coughed and took a drink. "Let's just say it's a little distracting, even for her."

"Let me get this straight," Cullen answered, eyeing Dorian with a skeptical expression. "You want me to go 'distract' the Herald of Andraste, our Inquisitor, by … what? Seducing her? I'll pass, thanks."

"We're not pimping you out, Curly," Varric snorted back a laugh. "We're serious here! You'd be good for each other. Just … think about it. All right? Go talk to her, at least. She needs her friends right now."

Sighing, Cullen nodded and climbed to his feet. He felt a little buzzy from the beer, but was otherwise all right. _Courage_ , he thought. _The falsity of warming one's blood and lightening one's mood turns into courage to do completely stupid things._ He crossed the room faster than he'd anticipated and his foot bumped against the back of the Inquisitor's chair. She startled, dropping her book. He knelt down beside her and retrieved it, feeling a little at sea and not a little embarrassed, knowing that Dorian and Varric were likely watching.

"I'm sorry," He said to her, not sure if he was apologizing for the book or for his own temerity. "I … was wondering if you would take a walk with me? Perhaps. You don't have to if you don't wish to …" his words trailed off as he looked up to find her eyes locked on him, bright and green as leaves beneath serious brows.

"Of course I'll walk with you," she smiled at him and took the book from his hands, setting it aside. It was a treatise on Orlesian culture he recognized from Vivienne's collection. "Where do you wish to go?"

"Somewhere … less crowded," He answered, looking around the hall. It was always crowded, even at this time of night.

"Let's walk the walls then?" She stood and he followed her, feeling suddenly and immensely tall standing next to her. Elves always seemed so delicate, he thought, when they were most of them quite strong. He knew she was – he'd seen her shoot a bow, drawing back a string that would have given _him_ trouble. She'd had trouble picking up Bull's great sword, however, which had made everyone chuckle at the time, but Bull's sword was nearly as tall as she was.

"The walls sound good," he agreed, and they walked toward the doors. He noticed she avoided going through the room at the bottom of the library, where Solas worked on his murals and studied. He didn't blame her for avoiding what was the quicker route, simply following her lead up to the outer wall, near the front gate, where they found themselves leaning into the cold wind that came soaring across the battlements in cold drafts from the Frostfangs. For a while, neither spoke, simply staring out at the scenery - it was comfortable, though he spent most of it trying to think what to say.

"You led us here, through all the snow and danger," He remembered aloud, pressing his hands onto the stone and staring up at the stars overhead. "It was a little odd to think of you as a scout after thinking of you as the Herald for so long."

"I was always a scout," she answered, leaning against the parapet and letting her hand drift in the wind. "But you rarely referred to me as the herald, even if you thought of me as such. In Haven, you called me Lavellan more often than not. I appreciated that."

"Lavellan," He repeated, nodding to himself. "I didn't know who the Herald was supposed to be, so I thought to call you by who you already were."

"It was a comfort - familiarity in the midst of so much strangeness."

"Do you need comfort now?" He asked, hardly daring to look at her. He concentrated, instead, at the sky and the stars spread broad and bright across the arc of the world. "I …"

"You know what happened." She said, not looking at him, though she did not seem upset. Her voice sounded … resigned, regretful, and her shoulders curved a little, as though the weight of everything was bowing her down.

"Yes." He answered, turning and leaning his back to the stone beside her, arms crossed and his eyes on his feet. "I know."

"It's a little embarrassing," she murmured, the wind blowing her hair and hiding her face. "I should have … guarded myself more fervently. But after the loss of my clan, when I was aching from the shock of it, he was a cipher, a symbol of all I and my people have lost. A touchstone of sorts. He was ... is ... the sort of man I dreamed of meeting when I was a child after hearing the stories of my ancestors and all the wise _elvhen_ who came before my little clan ever existed. He has so many _answers._ " Her breath escaped in a half laugh and she sighed, "I am every kind of fool, seeing what I wanted to see and not what actually was."

"At least you tried," he said, lifting his head once more. "I have never spoken when I had the chance, letting duty and foolish ideas of propriety stymie every hope I might have held." He looked at her then, seeing her push her hair out of her eyes as she straightened, looking fully at him in return. He took a breath and confessed, "I said cruel things, instead, and pushed her away all those years ago. If you will forgive me, I do not wish to follow that path again."

"Cullen," she said, watching his expression in a way that made him shift and stand straighter. "What are you saying?"

He swallowed, feeling as though he were standing at the edge of the Abyss in the Western Approach, all his armies lost and the Archdemon about to swoop down to carry him into the blackness below. But, then, he realized, if any of the Inquisition were in danger, this woman most of all, he would face just that to save them. It gave him courage, steeled his spine, and he could almost hear Varric's voice, urging him onward. "I'm saying that I care for you as … more than a friend, and have for some time. I know you are in pain now and I don't expect anything from you. At the very least," He cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck, "I … would take my chance, if you will let me."

"All right."

"What did you say?" He blinked, lost for words at her response.

The elf turned to fully face him, shaking her dark hair down her back, fists tight at her sides. "I'm not saying this because of … of Solas," her eyes shut tight for a moment and she took a deep breath. " … Cullen, I still sometimes find myself looking at _you_. Had I not felt such intense _loss_ when my clan was murdered, I do not think I would have looked away from you to the bright hope he gave me," she opened her eyes with that determination he found so typical and intriguing about her, stepping forward and looking up at him as she spoke. "It was a false hope I had in Solas, even though he did not intend it to be. You have never been false with me. Never gave me a lie to soften the truth. I think I am not a …" her throat closed and she seemed to fight for the words. "I am more than a _curiosity_ to you."

"You are," He breathed in agreement, reaching out to touch a strand of her long, loose hair, curling it around his finger. "You are … you. I see everyone watching their Inquisitor with worship in their eyes, though they do not know what you suffered to bring us here. They do not know what you hide for their sakes or what you have lost."

"What all of us have lost," she said, though a small smile curved her lip to one side. "Does this mean I should add your name to my dance card?"

"I suppose it does," He answered, stealing a step closer, his cloak sweeping around them as the wind picked up off the nearby peaks. "Though I do not know how to begin. It was only just pointed out to me that I should take this course of action."

"I recommend," she said,"That you hold my hand as we go to the Chantry garden. Everyone is asleep by now, and we can talk till the birds rise. If you like?"

"I would like that very much," he said, taking her offered hand in his and hoping he did not wake to find it was a drunken dream or one of his lyrium episodes.

 

* * *

 

"That's five gold, Tethras," Dorian said, taking a drink from a deep bottle of Tevinter wine and snapping his fingers under Varric's nose. They were sitting at the tower door down from where the Inquisitor and Commander Cullen had been standing on the wall, drinking liberally and tossing playing cards at one another in what they both considered an 'artful manner', but which lacked a certain element of grace to be art – given their drunken state.

The dwarf snorted and shook his head, pushing Dorian's hand away. "Y'can't win if they don't kiss!" he slurred, chuckling. "An' they didn't kiss!"

"Fine, but the minute we find out they have, you owe me."

"I ain't lettin' it go till it 'appens," Varric insisted.


	3. Chapter 3

_One of the secrets of life is that all that is really worth the doing is what we do for others._  
~ Lewis Carroll

* * *

 

"So," Varric said, parking himself on the ledge of the window in Dorian's corner of the library tower. "Chuckles has taken to haunting the corners of the castle and staring wistfully at things no one else can see. I _almost_ feel sorry for the guy."

"After what he did?" Dorian snorted and shook his head, trailing a finger along the spines of the books on his shelves. He selected one and dropped into the plush chair that had become, more or less, the throne of his small domain. He propped the book on his knee, staring into the shadows where the other researchers moved about in quiet study. "I supposed I do feel some sympathy, if only a little. I admit, in my younger days in Tevinter, I broke a few hearts and will forever regret my actions. Still, I am finding it difficult to pity the man."

"Have it your way," the dwarf smiled, watching as one of Leliana's red shouldered ravens soared past the window on its way to the rookery. "Do you think he's going to cause trouble once he finds out about Curly?"

The book in his hands forgotten for the moment, Dorian thought about the question, then shook his head. "No. Solas is strange, even for one of your Dalish, and he's stubborn, too. Finding out he has a rival will only validate his guilt. I think he will punish himself until he can no longer stay among us."

"He'll leave the Inquisition?" Varric's brows shot up. "I guess you've got a point. Think he's just staying around to see the end of the Corypheus?"

"I wonder," Dorian mused. "Best to keep an eye on him, just in case."

 

* * *

 

"Where will you go after the battles are over?"

They were playing chess on the balcony just outside her quarters. It was a warmer day, despite the cold winds, and, with no word yet of Corypheus' activities, they'd decided to steal a little time for a game or two. Cullen thought he might be winning for once.

"I don't know," he answered, looking down at the playing pieces on the board and frowning a little. "Until I came to the Inquisition, I had no real place in the world. Not after leaving the Templars as I had. And who would want a Commander suffering from the remnants of Lyrium addiction? I will not return to the Templars. That's certain." He took a drink, lifting his eyes to her face. "What about you?"

"My clan is gone," she said, slowly, as though she had only just considered the question in regards to herself. "The aravels are destroyed and the hala are scattered. The forests remain, of course, but it seems futile to return if there are no loved ones left to greet me. I have no desire to leave Skyhold … and there is so much left to do, even after we defeat Corypheus. The world needs mending and we have the will and the resources to help repair it."

"Then I shall stay," he decided. It was not a difficult decision with her sitting only a few feet away. "You will need me if you plan to keep going."

"I would wish you to be nearby in any case," she answered, smiling a little. "Cullen … we are friends, yes? Even if there is more between us, we are also friends?"

"Of course," he answered, leaning forward and holding her gaze with his own. She had sometimes appeared uncertain since Solas had refused her without explanation – it had been a blow to her confidence as well as to her heart. Cassandra had mentioned to him that the other advisers had noticed her withdrawal, especially Morrigan - who seemed to have a preternatural ability for ferreting out private information. "You have proven yourself a friend to me time and again, long before I approached you. That I have cared for you ... well," he smiled crookedly. "There are too many reasons to enumerate."

"I'm glad we are friends," she stood, restless, pulling the fur trimmed robe she wore more tightly around herself as she paced. "I keep dreaming of the Dread Wolf. He howls to the sky – to all the _Elvehn –_ in great sorrow and guilt. Every morning, I have wakened in tears."

"Is that why you've been so quiet lately?" He asked, leaving the table and putting himself in the path of her pacing. She stopped in front of him, nodding.

"I wake feeling as though I know why he sorrowed in the dream, but I lose the knowledge when I've left it. I … I asked Cole if he had done it … made me forget in order to comfort me, but he gave me nothing but riddles in reply."

"I think, perhaps, you need a distraction," he murmured, hooking a finger beneath her chin and lifting her face toward his. He ignored the way his heart had begun to hammer in his chest. "Perhaps a change of scenery?"

"Cullen," she began, staring up at him. Her eyes drifted to his mouth and then back to his eyes, and her lips began to quirk into a smile. "I rather like the current scenery."

"As do I," he breathed.

 

* * *

 

Every morning the advisors, the Inquisitor, and whichever of the companions was available sat down to breakfast together when they were in Skyhold. Iron Bull and Sera were usually elsewhere – Bull liked to dine with his crew. No one knew where Sera was that early in the morning, but, considering her usual activities in the wee hours, she was probably still abed. Solas had stopped attending entirely. The rest, however, seemed to enjoy the company and the conversation. They sat in the Great Hall at a trestle table set up near the throne, far enough from prying ears to feel private, but still approachable by any of the Inquisition or their allies.

On this particular morning, it was Morrigan who asked, in her usual way, "I see the Commander and our Inquisitor have absented themselves from our company today. How _curious_."

"I'm sure they are simply attending to their duties," Cassandra said, looking up from the book she held in one hand while she ate. She had carefully obscured the cover with a napkin. "Perhaps she is at the stables?"

"She wasn't there when I left," Blackwall said. "Her halla was still stabled, as well."

"Ah," Cassandra glanced at Leliana, who shrugged lightly.

"I do not know where she might be," said the spymaster. "I try to give her at least a little privacy while we are here in Skyhold."

"Cullen mentioned taking an excursion into the pass to train some of the new scouts," Josephine suggested, flipping through the pages attached to her note board. "Oh … wait," she clicked her tongue. "That is to be tomorrow. Perhaps he left early?"

"I think, perhaps, you are all being a little _obtuse_ ," Morrigan said slowly, amusement in her gold eyes. "Perhaps it is apurpose of some secret you do not wish to share?"

Varric and Dorian, who were seated at the far end of the table with Vivienne, erupted into laughter at that, earning them a glare from the Orlesian mage and the stares of everyone else, all of whom – save Morrigan and, for once, Cassandra – looked ready to kill them. Cassandra still had her nose in her book, which, given that her napkin had slipped, proved to be another of Varric's bodice-rippers.

"No no…" Varric gasped. "Don't mind us. I just …" he chuckled, "Owe this man some money."

 

* * *

 

"We missed breakfast," she said, pulling the bedding this way and that in a futile attempt to locate her pants. Cullen shifted as she crawled over him and caught the Inquisitor around the waist, pulling her down into his embrace. When she continued to look for her various bits of clothing, he kissed her soundly, distracting her from her search.

"I'm not hungry," he murmured, nibbling along the tip of her ear, enjoying it when she shivered and relaxed against his chest.

"But they'll all …" She began, trailing off with a gasp when he used his teeth.

"I don't care," he grinned, "Skyhold has been here for thousands of years and only fell down a little. It will be fine for a morning without us."

"It's not the _castle_ I'm worried about," she laughed. "It's what they're _saying_."

"We'll weather it," He assured her, even as he lay a line of kisses from her earlobe to her collarbone. "As long as you're safe, they'll be happy enough."

"Mmm, I suppose … "

"You doubt the _commander of your forces_ , Mi'Lady?"

"Of course not … ohh! … what are you … Cullen!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: All Elvish I used came from the DragonAge Wikia found here: http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_language
> 
> NOTE II: ma'len = my child - some of the words used I had to extrapolate from what I could find on the wiki. So, please forgive me if I've used something incorrectly.
> 
> NOTE III: In my play through with my DA:I archer, I failed to save her family on the War Table ... so I have kept that for this story.

_I am the one_   
_Who can recount_   
_What we've lost._

_I am the one_   
_Who will live on._

_I have run_   
_Through the fields_   
_Of pain and sighs._

_I have fought_   
_To see the other side._

from I Am the One, DragonAge: Inquisition  
(translation of Elvish song found in DA:O).

* * *

 

The trees dipped and swayed in the breeze overhead, their sweet, rustling voices whispering to her as she walked the winding trails, her fingers tracing along the bark of familiar trees. Her bow was at her back, her hair tied in its familiar, long braid, and she wore the light leathers she had worn while still with her clan - Hala leather dyed loden green with contrasting panels bleached white in the sun. The hala she sought raced before her - _Hanal'ghilan_ \- its golden hide flickering beneath the leaves as it soared over fallen logs and raced through long-forgotten ruins that her ancestors had once cherished. She chased it on fleet feet, finding the proof of its passage when it fled from view only to startle it at the falls and river crossing where they both paused to take a drink of the ice cold water.

Drums sounded in the distance, calling her home. Whispering her gratitude to the gods, she ran through the forest, into the shadows of the dimming daylight to where her clan had stopped their aravels. Breathless and tired from her hunt, she greeted her cousins who stood guard and jogged past the colorful, swaying carriages that were the homes of the Dalish people as they traveled through the forests of the Free Marches just south of Antiva. The scent of fresh cooked food was in the air, reminding her of how hungry she was, but first she had to tell the _Hahren_ of her hunt.

He was standing in the shade of one of the great trees, rumored to be as ancient as the ruins in which they stood, reciting the evening rites to their gods. She took a knee behind him and caught her breath, remembering the golden hala and the way the earth had flown beneath their feet as they ran.

" _Lethallan_ , _a_ _ndaran atish'an,_ " He murmured when he had finished and found her there, a smile crossing his wrinkled face. "Your hunt was successful?"

"Yes, _Hahren_ ," she answered, still basking in the exhilaration of the run. "I found the golden hala, as you bade me, and ...," she paused, exhaling. "We ran the forest together. I felt as though I flew."

"I felt her as you drew near our encampment," he agreed, " _Ma serranas, ma'len._ You have brought a great blessing upon your people."

She opened her mouth to speak, to tell the keeper of what she had seen along her journey as she ran, but a scream interrupted her, bright and brief as a birdcall, and they turned together toward the aravels. Her hand went to her bow, nocking an arrow almost before thought. The keeper put a hand on her arm as, in the distance, smoke drifted into the air and more screams followed the first. The sound of yelling joined the clanging of metal upon metal.

"You cannot stay here, _ma'len_ ," the old elf said gently. "You know you cannot."

"I must," she tried to wrench herself away from him, tried to run toward the sound and the chaos, but the hand on her arm was too tight, too strong, and a low, frightening growl rose behind her, sending an icicle chill along her spine. "Please, let me go."

" _Ir abelas,_ _ma'len_ ," the voice had changed into something both familiar and strange, it seemed to grow, to envelope her, to drag her away from those she most longed to help. "You must remember how to fly and leave this place to memory."

 

* * *

 

" _I CANNOT_!"

Her shout brought Cullen out of the depths of sleep and into startled, panicked waking. He had his arms around her waist still, though the inquisitor had sat up in bed with her shout, still straining against her dreams, her fists knotted into the sheets. Tears were sliding down her pale cheeks, her hair a tangled mess about her head.

"What ... are you all right?" He murmured, pushing himself up and reaching for her even as she dropped her face into her hands. "Tell me."

"Ahh, _emma lath_ ," she shook her head, shoulders hunching. " _Emma ir abelas ..._ "

He knew enough elvish to understand the last to mean, " _I am filled with sorrow_ ," and his stomach clenched. "Tell me what it is you saw," he whispered, reaching around to pull her close, holding her tightly and rocking a little. She did not answer for a long while, though she did, eventually, relax into his arms and seemed to calm, to let the dream drift away. Eventually, she spoke, and her voice was strangely calm, distant as she described running with the golden hala, of meeting the keeper of her clan, and of the voice that had growled behind her.

" _Fen'harel,_ " she muttered, laughing raggedly. "He failed us. My entire clan is dead, and I dream of the dread wolf just ... letting them be slaughtered while I stand helplessly by. My ... my _parents_ , they are dead. My brothers and my grandmother have all been murdered while I was here, with this." She held up the hand that bore the anchor mark, scowling at it. "I would cut off my arm if it would save them ... but it is too late."

 

* * *

 

"Something disturbed the fade last night," Dorian said as his pen flicked across the page of his journal. "Well, early this morning, really."

"Here?" Varric's brow lifted. They were at the table near his usual spot at the front of the hall near the fireplace. Dorian had wanted to take a closer look at some of the Tevinter mosaics and had parked himself at the table nearest the dwarf. "I didn't think Skyhold was vulnerable to thin spots in the Fade?"

"Well, it's better protected than most places, yes," Dorian nodded, "But that doesn't mean it's immune to _everything_. Humans and elves who sleep here still dream, you know."

"Ah," Varric shook his head. "So someone had a crazy dream last night?"

"Not just anyone," Dorian put down his pen and leaned back in his chair, looking at the dwarf with a frown. "The only people with enough power to do what I felt last night are a few of the mages and our lady sleeping in the tower, and she, not being a mage, probably has no idea what happened."

"Ah. That's bad." Varric really did not like 'bad' when it came to mages, the fade, or ... well, anything magic. In his experience, there wasn't much worse than magic gone out of hand.

"It might be," Dorian nodded, "But I am uncertain whether I should ask or if I should let Morrigan ask after her. Solas has the most understanding of the Fade and her mark, but ..."

"Chuckles torched that bridge with dragon fire? Yeah. That really won't work at all."

"So we leave it to Morrigan?" The mage frowned.

"Leave what to Morrigan?" A silky sweet voice slid out of the shadows along with its owner and her bright, too-quick gaze. "Tis' not polite to speak of someone when they are not present."

"Ah, yes," Dorian eyed the apostate mage with a narrowed gaze. " _Asha'bellanar'_ s daughter in the flesh. I suppose you lurk in all the shadows, just _waiting_ for your cue to terrify all who meet you?"

"If you would rather I go ask the Inquisitor why her friends are making wagers on her love life, I could do that instead," she smiled beatifically, taking a seat across from him, her hands folded demurely in her lap.

Varric rolled his eyes. "We were going to come to you for help, but now I'm rethinking that decision."

"Ahh, yes. You wish me to investigate last night's disturbance," she eyed them both for a few beats, then sighed. "I suppose I must, since she's fallen out with her hermit. T'is a pity. They seemed well-matched, despite his ...," her eyes drifted to the fire snapping in the fireplace, as though she was listening to something they could not hear. She likely was, after drinking from the Well of Sorrows in the Temple of Mythal. "I shall not trouble you with that one's peculiarities."

"Is he that peculiar?" Dorian wanted to know, but Morrigan gave him a slow, evil sort of smile that made the hair on the back of Varric's neck rise and had Dorian frowning like a thunder cloud. The two mages were practically spitting sparks, what with Morrigan's sly smile and Dorian's temper rising. Varric had begun to back up a step or two and began to look around for the nearest Templar, but then Vivienne's voice drifted down from the balcony far above them: "Darlings, whichever of you intends to introduce magical dueling to Skyhold, I do recommend you rethink that decision."

"Just ... let us know how things go with the Inquisitor," Varric said, palms up. "And stop doing that, Morrigan."

"Doing what, pray?"

"Smirking. Seriously, that's how mage wars begin. Believe me, I should know."

 

* * *

 

Draw. Breathe. Release. Repeat.

A straw target wobbled as each arrow struck, one after the other, dead center to the target. None missed. None touched the others. All were hitting within the circle on the mark. The only sound in the archery pit was the wind and the hiss followed by the thunk of each strike ... and the occasional gasp. The soldiers standing near the edges , well behind the Inquisitor grew wider-eyed the longer she practiced, but no one had said a word for over an hour after a stray whisper had earned the speaker a green-eyed glare from the archer. When Morrigan drifted between them to the front of the group, smiling in that particularly carnivorous way she had with strangers, the audience departed, leaving the two women alone.

Morrigan watched with great interest as the arrows flew, her interest sharpening at the muttered curse that followed when the Inquisitor realized she had run out.

"Whoever you intended to kill, I do believe tis now well murdered."

"It would take more than arrows to kill my prey," the elf said simply.

"You seek to kill that which is immortal?" Morrigan asked, one of her brows lifting in surprise. "Or perhaps an Archdemon? I know something of the execution of such creatures, though it takes a certain sacrifice ..."

The Inquisitor crossed to the straw target and began removing her arrows, checking the fletching on each before putting it back into the quiver. "I ...," she sighed. "I cannot say what I intend, as I have no hope of catching my prey. And, no, it is not an Archdemon. Unless you know of a true Blight occurring somewhere?"

"I am glad to say I know of no such occurrence," Morrigan replied, leaning back against the fence that skirted the edge of the shooting range. "Still, something has caught my attention and I wished to bring it to yours."

"And that is?"

"Something caused a ripple in the Fade in the early moments of the morning," the witch replied. "I would be surprised had you not already noted it."

"I did not."

"But you did, I think," Morrigan disagreed, though her voice was gentle. "I am here to help you, though you have many friends who might be more useful than I."

That got her a laugh and a raised brow, "There is only one other here who has more experience in the Fade than you, and you know it. And he, as far as I know, has not got a library of a thousand elven voices in his head to answer his questions when they arise."

"He may have. Shall we ask him, Inquisitor?"

"No." That reply came with an edge that cut, but was quickly followed by an embarrassed frown. "I am sorry, Morrigan. But I ... I would rather speak to you about such things. But not here - somewhere more private."

"I know of just such a place."

 


	5. Chapter 5

_Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell._ ~Edna St. Vincent Millay

* * *

 

"Hey Chuckles," Varric waved a hand from over his ale. He and Bull were sitting with Dorian in the tavern, frowning over a game of Wicked Grace when Solas approached the table. They were fairly well into their cups, though none of them were quite drunk yet and no one had accepted Bull's offer from his private stock of liquor - they all knew better at this point. When Solas approached, they were sober enough to pay attention, at least. The elf appeared troubled, his brows drawn into a what was _almost_ a scowl. He rarely went anywhere near Cassandra's corner of the Skyhold courtyard and usually walked along the walls if he wanted to talk to Cole.

"Care to join the game?" asked Bull.

"The Inquisitor appears to have gone missing," Solas answered, ignoring the invitation entirely. "Have any of you seen her?"

Dorian snorted and looked ready to launch into a tirade, but Bull shot him a glance and shook his head while Varric jumped in to say, "She was consulting with Morrigan last I saw her. Probably need to catch her when she gets back. Wanna join us till then?"

"Thank you, but I must refuse," the expression on Solas' face had shifted toward anger at the mention of Morrigan, but it was brief and soon his usual, distant expression was intact. He turned on his heel and left the tavern, staff striking the boards with each step. Maryden glanced over at their table as he passed her and lifted a brow, they all shrugged.

"What crawled up his ass and died?" Bull asked.

"Oh, y'know, he just likes shooting himself in the foot," Varric answered lightly, kicking Dorian's knee under the table. Dorian yelped and glared, then subsided with a mutter, throwing his cards onto the table in disgust.

"Hmph," Bull shrugged and shook his head. "Elves."

"Precisely," Dorian agreed.

 

* * *

 

The world beyond the Eluvian was still and gray, the trees sculpted and delicate - like statuary with no wind to move them. Voices barely carried in that space, echoing, yet muffled as the two women paced among the various portals. The witch circled the elf, eying her dispassionately.

" _Fen'Harel_ was in your dream?" Morrigan wondered aloud. "Tis very odd, this dream you have had. Certainly it does not _seem_ like a fade dream to me, but there are elements I find intriguing."

"Which?"

"Your _Hahren_ , he told you not to remain though you are the first of your clan and more than capable of helping. It seems an odd thing for an elder to do, even in a dream. Though, it could simply have been a nightmare ... you are beset by many worries, Inquisitor."

"It was not a regular dream, Morrigan. For one, _Fen'Harel_ is ... was worshiped by my clan. We considered him something of a protector. For the other, I ...," pausing, the elf shut her eyes, remembering the hala and the way her heart had soared. "It feels like the ... ah," her lips compressed and she shook her head, looking into the distance. "It felt as though I were really there, but not like Adamant. I almost knew I was dreaming this time. Solas has taken me into the Fade in my dreams. It felt like that."

"Did he?" Morrigan's brows lifted. "Perhaps we _ought_ to invite him into our conversation. He may have the answers to our inquiry, and could provide them more quickly, too."

That earned her a sideways look and a sigh. "And then I would have to tell him where I was when I woke and with whom, hmm? Morrigan, I think you _enjoy_ causing trouble."

"It t'would not be the first time I have been accused of such, and I doubt the elf is unaware of your new liaison, in any case." The witch smirked, though she sobered as she considered what she had been told. "Very well, I shall assume this is as you say. Though, if it was, I fear the servants of _Mythal_ would be the wrong source of wisdom, and that is who I have within my head. Still, _Hanal'ghilan_ , the golden hala, was in your dreaming and that would indicate _Ghilan'nain_ ... perhaps even _Andruil_ , considering that you hunted and then ran in pursuit of this golden hala. The Dread Wolf heralds change. It is possible this dream was a warning? Or, perhaps, you simply sorrow so strongly for your lost people that you brought yourself into that place and were warned for your own safety to leave it."

"I was unaware I had the ability to travel on my own through the Fade." The idea made her uncomfortable and the Inquisitor crossed her arms over her chest, turning as Morrigan walked around her. She felt cold beneath the golden eyes and wished she had remembered her fur lined coat, but it was a little far from where they stood, quite solidly in the center of nowhere.

"It is possible you did not. Still, you do possess the anchor and it is a power that cannot be dismissed," Morrigan replied, pausing in her circuit. "I could try to take you back to that place, though it would be fraught with danger and I prefer interpreting the dream to risking your safety."

"Have you entered the Fade since your immersion in the Well?"

"Hmm, perhaps a little," but Morrigan offered no more than that. Instead, she sighed and straightened, "I will think on this, Inquisitor. But you must be wary of Corypheus for now. He will certainly appear to thwart you once more, if only for revenge, and you must be ready for him. You are leaving for the Wastes again soon, are you not?"

"First the Western Approach, but then to the Wastes, yes. Cullen wants me to stay close, of course, but we are not finished in our work there, and I do not like to think of our people at the Keep standing unsupported on the edge of the Abyss," the elf smiled and shrugged. "Why do you ask?"

"Ahh, twas simple curiosity," the witch returned the smile, though hers was enigmatic, as usual. "When you are away, Kieran and I have few to keep us company."

"Then I will return as quickly as I can," The Inquisitor's lips curved. "I fear what you would get up to if bored."

"There are so many possibilities!" The witch laughed.

"That is what I'm afraid of!"

 

* * *

 

Solas was waiting for her when she stepped into her quarters. He had his back to her as she climbed the stairs, his hands on his staff, his eyes on the peaks of the nearby mountains. Something about the set of his shoulders and the tightness of his jaw caused her to pause at the top of the stairs, her hands gripping the banister with a white-knuckled hand. For a moment, the two elves stood in silence, but the raucous cry of one of Leliana's birds startled her into words.

"I thought we were done with speaking."

"Of certain things, yes," he answered, turning his head slightly. "I have reason to believe you have need of me, yet you took the matter to the witch instead."

"I have good reason not to come to you if you will not speak to me of ... and now it is too late. It pains me to speak with you," She turned and would have gone back down and away, but he turned then and crossed the room, grabbing her arm.

"Wait. _Abelas, Lethallan,"_ he said softly, letting go of her arm almost immediately and stepping back. "I am concerned for your safety. What you did this morning, it is similar to Adamant and you were in grave peril."

"Was I in the Fade this morning?" She asked, leaning her forehead against the wall, not looking at him.

"I believe you were," He answered. "Though not physically. You were in a dream."

"Was I truly in danger?"

"It is likely, though it depends on where you were," he answered. "Will you tell me of the dream?"

She turned her head, so full of unasked questions she could hardly find the words to reply. "I don't think I can. Not right now."

He shut his eyes and turned away. They stood together, the only sound their breathing, until Solas broke the silence. "I will bother you no more, _ma vhe..._." He stopped himself and took a breath, released it.

"Solas ..."

He smiled crookedly and crossed behind her down the stairs, his hand touching her arm as he passed. "Do not worry, _Lethallan_. I will not trouble you again."

 

* * *

 

"Where's Curly?" Asked Varric the next morning as he, Cassandra, Dorian, and the Inquisitor all met in the courtyard where Horse Master Dennet was helping them load their gear. They were setting out with supplies for the camps, extra soldiers, and a entire detail of new archers for Griffon Keep. The soldiers were already heading down the path from Skyhold and would wait for the Inquisitor and her cohort at the base of the trail.

"He is not coming," Cassandra answered. She was checking her gear, though it was all shining so brightly there was no possibility that she had missed anything. "He seemed to be in a most foul mood."

"Snapped your head off?" Varric asked, though his eyes were on the elf. She was very carefully _not_ listening to their conversation, her motions jerky as she tightened one of the horse's girths and checked the positioning of the saddle pads. He thought she looked paler than usual, though she brightened when Cullen managed to win free of the departing soldiers at the gate and approached their party. The two bent their heads together and spoke quite softly. Cullen was taking her departure hard, though he was making an effort to hide it from her.

"He did," Cassandra was saying about Solas. "I am sorry, but I even prefer _your_ commentary to his temper. I never thought I would say that."

"What is that, Seeker? You enjoy my company? I'm not sure I heard you correctly."

"Shut up, Varric."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE I: Souveri'ma isala hamin = you are weary and need rest. ((as close as I could get, anyway))
> 
> NOTE II: It's 2 a.m. I may have to go back through and correct things more than I have ... but it's 2 a.m. Good night :D It's now 9 a.m. and it wasn't as bad as I anticipated ... much. .

_Better never to have met you in my dream than to wake and reach for hands that are not there.  
_ ~ Otomo No Yakamochi

* * *

 

Water dripped and clinked onto stone in a steady, rhythmic pattern. The group at the back of the tunnel, illuminated only by the sickened gleam of abandoned red lyrium deposits, held their collective breath, weapons at the ready. Something in the dark shifted, a skittering sounded to the right and then the low, guttural hiss and hurr of a darkspawn echoed into the old mineshaft. Dorian uttered a sharp phrase and slammed the end of his staff into the ground, a ripple of force and light erupting even as Cassandra charged forward with a battle cry. The Inquisitor shot a volley into the dark followed by the sound of Bianca's bolts slamming into something with an audible thud.

"Get down!" Dorian shouted, and Cassandra ducked the magic winging over her head. A shriek echoed and a screeching, clicking, may-legged insect the size of a mabari slammed into him, knocking him back into Lavellan, who gave a gasp and fell. Dorian grunted and the elf went for her dagger as the mage rolled away, cursing about spiders and darkspawn and, "Andraste's Tits, why are the spiders always gigantic?" even as he threw an ice spell at it. The Inquisitor's blade scored open the creature's carapace before it could win free of the ice, ichor spilling across her lap. She crawled away only to stagger to her feet and find herself face to face with the waist area of a giant, growling Alpha.

"SHIT!" She scrambled backward, tripping in the dark over the dead spider's carcass as the hurlock swung it's crude zweihander at her head giving her barely enough time to avoid the blow. It hit the stone wall of the mine, sending fragments of red lyrium flying, and she ducked again, finding her bow beneath her hands. The elf darted with it into the shadows again, only to slip and fall into the watery hole that lined one side of the cavern with a crash and a gasp. Varric shouted her name, shooting bolt after bolt at the looming shadow he could see silhouetted against the red lyrium. Cassandra finished the first hurlock, turned and threw herself at the Alpha even as Dorian managed to drag the Inquisitor out of the water in time for them to see the hulking creature go down to one knee and, finally, topple over onto its side.

"Everyone all right?" Cassandra asked, panting as the cavern went quiet. She'd taken a knock to the head at some point and blood was running down one side of her face from beneath her helm. "I think that's the last of them."

"For now," Dorian said, still catching his breath.

"We need to get out of here," the drenched Inquisitor said, trying to shake out her gear, but finding little success. "There are always more and it's too dark to see."

"You'll get no argument from me," Varric muttered, bringing up the rear as they jogged along the dips and turns of the tunnel. "Why did we come in here again?"

"Do not remind me," Cassandra said sharply. "I think we know what happened to the missing troop now. I would prefer we do not dwell upon their fate."

"I'll second that," said the Inquisitor, sliding down a narrow incline and onto the gravel path beyond. There was light glimmering ahead, sunlight this time and not the red menace of tainted lyrium nor the false hope of a torch. "Think it's pretty obvious we'll not be any help to... ah!"

There was the swift hiss of an arrow in flight and then the Inquisitor staggered back into them, nearly tripping Cassandra as she fell, her hand gripping at the blackened, twisted arrow that stood out from her chest like a standard. Dorian cursed even as he summoned a barrier between the party and the darkspawn beyond. Cassandra, of course, ran through it, shield up and sword bare, slamming into the bowman with all her strength. He went down with a choked gurgle and she turned to face the other two darkspawn closing on her. One fell to Bianca and the other found itself skewered by the furious Seeker who cursed it in Nevarran as it fell.

"Hey, hey ..." Varric was leaning over the gasping Inquisitor, "Hang in there, kid."

"Get out of the way, Tethras," Cassandra said sharply, pushing him aside and leaning over the elf, frowning at the way the other woman's breathing faltered and bubbled. Varric pushed a potion into the warrior's hand and she tipped it to the elf's lips, but it proved impossible for her to swallow. "Dorian!"

"I can try my best, but I'm no healer," the mage answered, already leaning over to help. "We need to get her to one of the camps ... or the keep."

"You are right. I will carry her to the horses - if they have not been chased away by the dark spawn," the seeker bit off the words, "Help me get her up. We will have to carry her, though the way she is wounded will make this difficult."

"We'll manage," Varric said. "Remember how she carried you to camp after the wyvern fight, Seeker?" He was trying not to babble, but the elf was a sickly shade of pale and there was a lot of blood. "How about I carry her and you keep us alive?"

 

* * *

 

Cassandra hadn't wanted to let anyone else carry her charge out of the mine, but Varric had insisted that the elf was light and he was a dwarf. His insistence saved their lives. More hurlocks waited outside the cavern, hissing and stinking of filth, and it took both Cassandra's shield arm and Dorian's magery to take them all down. Varric laid the Inquisitor in the sand behind a boulder at the cave mouth so he could provide backup, but they had eventually won free of the darkspawn and Dorian found the horses a little way further along the path. The horses didn't like the smell of blood _or_ the scent of darkspawn, but Cassandra managed to mount despite being covered in both, and Dorian helped Varric hand the Inquisitor up to the Seeker.

Harding's face blanched when she saw them ride into camp leading one of their horses, but she went dead white when she saw who had been injured, freckles standing out in stark contrast on the head-scout's face. She was shouting orders almost immediately, stirring up her men and sending to the Keep for a healer. "Tell Rylen we need them protected and we need them _fast_!"

"How is she even alive?" Dorian hissed to Varric as Cassandra and some of the scouts carried the wounded elf into a tent and laid her down on one of the cots.

"I think it hit her lung, and that can be quick or it can be slow," The dwarf answered. "She was gurgling up blood - that's why they want to have a healer here before they can pull the arrow. She can't drink a healing draught like that. Not to mention, that's not just any arrow. If they pull it now, it could kill her. But if they leave it in ..."

"It could be tainted," Dorian said, sitting down on one of the camp benches near the fire. His knees had given way at the thought. "Dammit, not again. Not after Felix ..."

"Cassandra won't let anything happen to her," Varric said, though even he wasn't sure what the Seeker could possibly do to combat darkspawn taint. They'd sent the Wardens out of Orlais, so that wasn't an option, and Alistair and Hawke had gone with them, as well.** They were out of options. His fists clenched and he paced, kicking at the sand.

 

* * *

 

"We cannot leave this," Cassandra was saying inside the tent. "Hold her still."

"Lady Seeker, if we take it now, she's certain to die," Harding protested. "We don't know that it's ..."

"We don't know that it isn't, either," Cassandra snapped. "Get the poultices and some of the healing draught. If we can get that into her while we work, we might be able to keep her alive long enough for a healer to get here and fix this."

The Inquisitor moaned and coughed, gasping for breath. Her hands clutched at Cassandra's arms and then at the arrow in her chest, but the warrior pushed them out of the way. "It's all right," she soothed. "Today is not your day to go to the Maker's side, my friend. Not after everything we've done."

Removing the arrow was difficult work, but not unfamiliar to either Harding or the Seeker. That it was lodged in the chest of the most important person in both their lives had both of them swearing and shaking, alternately trying to comfort their patient, who was drifting in and out of consciousness, and one another. The arrow had gone through the archer's leather jacket and split the silverite chainmail sewn into the lining, but it had not gone as deep as they feared. Dorian was forced to use what little healing magic he knew as they got the projectile free, and it was he who doled out the healing draught, carefully coaxing the Inquisitor to accept a few sips until the bottle was empty.

"Not so much!" Cassandra snapped at him, and he growled in response.

"I am aware of the proper dosage, Seeker," the mage bit back. "Go yell at Varric if you must, but do not cause me to lose my grip on this vial."

"She's breathing a little easier," Harding said quietly. She was sitting on the floor next to the cot, examining the darkspawn arrow. They had been fortunate that it was tipped with nothing more than a bodkin style arrowhead, which had none of the ripping or tearing qualities of broader, more trinagular styles. "I think the potions are helping."

"Her temperature is not too high," Dorian agreed. "If it rises precipitously ..."

"Then we have a problem," Cassandra finished for him.

 

* * *

 

The forest was bright in the spring, full of green leaves, the scent of rain, and the rich, damp earth beneath one's boots. The hunter crept along the path, watching the white hides of the halla as they ran along the forest floor. Her job this day was to count the young and take stock of the herd for future hunting parties. If she could find the stag, even better. She enjoyed the challenge of stillness and watchfulness, of coming so close to the wild without it taking notice.

When she came upon the little house in the middle of the wood, she wasn't certain what to make of it. The halla lingered there, drinking at the stream that sidled through the clearing, and they did not run when she stepped from the forest into the brighter, dappled light and made her cautious, curious way to the front door. The small structure was built of stone, chinked with river mud, and had a mossy roof. In some ways, it reminded her of a Chasind dwelling, quick built but long-lasting, but never lived in for very long throughout the year. The door, however, was carved in the style of the elves and their aravels, with looping symbols and painted a peaceful shade of green.

Setting her knuckles to the door, she rapped three times, then stepped back to wait. One of the halla approached her and sniffed at her while she stood there, and she scratched at its nose.

"If you wish to enter my house," a woman spoke behind her shoulder, directly into her ear. "You should bring a gift."

"AH!" The elf spun on her heel, heart pounding in her chest and backed away from the old woman as she fumbled with her bow. The stranger was tall and had a lined face, gleaming eyes, and a curving, dangerous smile. Her hair was bound into what looked to be snowy white horns dipped in red, and clothing that draped a figure a younger woman would envy. The hunter gaped for a moment, then gasped, "Who are you? What is this place?"

" _Andaran atish'an_. You might know me as _Asha'Bellanar, ma'len_ ," the woman's eyes crinkled at the corners and she tilted her head quizzically. "This place might once have been called _Aneth Ara_ by your people - a 'safe place.' I was looking for something valuable to me when I felt your presence here, and I thought I would speak with the vaunted Herald of Andraste."

A frown crossed the elf's face, and she shook her head, "I know of no such person. Perhaps you are looking for someone else? I was hunting when I came upon this grove."

"I am sorry, _ma'len,_ but you are more than simply a hunter," the old woman said gently, stepping nearer. "Whatever moved you to come here, your life is yet hanging by a thread. But unless you remember, I cannot aid you. You are in the grasp of the nightmare and have fallen too deep."

"I do not understand." But she felt it then, the pain in her chest and, looking down, she saw the blood on her clothes, and not the hunting leathers she had been wearing a moment before, but the gear she had brought from Skyhold, bloodied beyond reason. Memory flooded back, bringing with it darkness and fear. Falling to her knees, she pressed her hands to the wound, gasping for breath. The old woman swept forward, and caught the Inquisitor before she could pitch forward, cradling the elf in her arms as she struggled for air.

"Why?"

"Because this is what I do; I meddle," the old woman smiled before she began to chant in elvish, power welling around them in a ring of light. It was like laying by the fire on a winter night, filling the body with heat that soothed as it waned and flared. The pain faded and the terror fled with it. Eventually, the old woman laid the Inquisitor down in the mossy grass and stepped away. "Rest awhile. He will find you soon, _ma'len_."

She drifted for a space. It seemed to last a long time, but there was no way to be certain. The halla she had petted laid down beside her and nuzzled her gently, it's soft breath stirring her hair. Above them, the sky wheeled and she thought she saw the second moon, Satina, rising behind the first. The world spun along with the sky, but she did not have the strength to resist ... she had little strength to do more than breathe.

"What is this?"

Gentle hands touched her face, words were murmured that she could not comprehend, and then she found herself lifted in strong arms, held and cradled as though she were a small child. The voice whispered, familiar, yet unplaceable. " _Souveri'ma isala hamin, ma vhenan._ "

Sleep, like a thief, stole her away.

 

* * *

 

Cassandra woke to the sound of wretched, ragged coughing and sat bolt right up on her cot. Next to her, the Inquisitor was hunched over and gasping, and it was all the Seeker could do not to laugh for joy. The healer, an elven Circle mage from Orlais, ducked into the tent and bent over the Inquisitor, and the Seeker, unable to hide her relief, rose to her feet and made her way to the dwarf and the mage who waited outside with Commander Rylen.

"She is awake," the Seeker said. "And there is no sign of the Taint."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Alistair and Hawke are both alive in this story, since it's my story and that makes me happy. Someone else bit it in the Fade. His name was George, and he was a good fellow with sacrificial tendencies. He was a brave, brave man, was George. And this makes it so I don't have to kill Alistair (I just can't do it), and I don't have to see Varric cry (O.O I'M NOT A MONSTER). So, there. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.


	7. Chapter 7

_Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun, more last than star… ~_ E.E. Cummings

* * *

 

The castle was asleep but for the guards. It was that hour of the morning when only insomnia and the watchful are awake, before even the earliest of birds have begun to sing their greetings to the sun. Usually, the guards on the walls had little to do beyond anticipating their immediate captain or lieutenant wandering by to make sure they were awake. That Commander Cullen was on the wall-walk above the gate house and had been since the previous night was making the usual guards more than a little antsy. He hadn't spoke to them beyond a terse, "As you were" or partaken in the hot drinks the tavern sent round every night, so neither of them knew why he was up there, though he kept re-reading a crumpled piece of vellum every now and then.

The two guards had almost got used to his presence, when, In the distance, a light began to bob along the road up to the castle and someone at the forward gate signaled the all-clear. The Commander turned and, with an expression that would have frozen an abomination in place, made his rapid way down from the wall into the gatehouse. "Open the portcullis," He commanded when he arrived, then paced across the paving stones while the gate slowly rose.

Cassandra rode the lead horse. Dorian came behind her and Varric brought up the rear, leading the Orlesian charger that the Inquisitor had been favoring in recent months. For a moment, Cullen felt his heart freeze in his chest, and he took a step back from them, but Dorian shifted and he saw that Lavellan was simply out of view, riding pillion behind the mage. He sagged with relief, putting a hand out to rest on the neck of Cassandra's mount.

"Commander," she said, weariness etched into her voice. "It was a long ride."

"Is she...?" he asked, quietly.

"She will be well, but ...," the warrior turned her head to look back at Dorian and the sleeping Inquisitor, "... she needs rest."

"Then she will get it," he answered, moving away as one of the soldiers came to hold Cassandra's horse while she dismounted. He moved alongside Dorian, who gave him a tired half-smile. "She's still asleep, I think," he said quietly as the former Templar lifted the Inquisitor down off the horse and into his arms. She woke a little, murmured his name, and then rested her head against Cullen's chest. Dorian slid off the horse next, letting one of the soldiers take his mount away.

"We had some trouble through Orlais, but managed to join some of Leliana's people returning from Mythal," Dorian explained. "Have we had any word on Corypheus?"

"Not yet," Cullen shook his head, speaking quietly. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or if she really seemed lighter than she had before. "I'll take her to her quarters. You should send for one of the healers perhaps ... and the herbalist."

"I'll walk with you first," Dorian answered, making shooing hands at Cassandra as he followed Cullen out of the guard house. Varric was a few steps behind them, too tired to really converse. When it seemed as though Cassandra was simply going to stand in the gatehouse, listing a little with exhaustion, the dwarf took one of her hands and lead her out into the inner ward. "I'll catch up later, Sparkler."

 

* * *

 

They carried her through the Great Hall, nearly empty now but for a few people here or there who were dozing in corners, or carrying on hushed conversations. Dorian opened the door for Cullen and they continued up to her rooms where Cullen laid her on the bed. She woke a little and smiled at the sight of him leaning over her, winning a crooked smile in return. Dorian probably ought to have turned around and given them a little space at this point, but he was honestly too tired to move and, in any case, it was relief to be back... which brought back all the panic and terror he'd been shoving aside since they'd seen that hideous bolt sticking out of her chest. He turned away and would have gone down the stairs, but Cullen caught his arm.

"Wait."

"But ..."

"I need to know what happened," the Commander said sharply. "All we knew was that she'd been injured and your return would be delayed."

"Leliana's man didn't make it back ahead of us?" Dorian's eyes widened and he sighed, sagging a little. "Fine, but ..." he glanced at the woman on the bed. She'd drifted back to sleep. "Fine. So long as she doesn't have to hear it."

They sat in the chairs in front of the fireplace, far enough away from the bed that low voices would not disturb the sleeper. Cullen was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, staring at Dorian with an intense expression. "We don't even know how she was wounded."

"Arrow to the chest," the mage replied, tersely. "We'd gone down to rescue some of our men who'd disappeared into a red lyrium mine some days ago. It was dark as pitch down there, except for the lyrium glowing. We took care of the darkspawn in the mine itself, but when she stepped out of the cavern one of the bastards nailed her on the first shot. We barely got back to the camp, and then they didn't know if the arrow was tainted or not, so Cassandra made a call." Dorian rubbed his face, he felt sick just remembering it. "The arrow came out, and we kept her alive long enough for Rylen's healers to get there and save the day."

Cullen's face had gone a particular ashen shade of gray and he leaned back in his chair. Dorian shook his head, "It _wasn't_ tainted, obviously, but it was a long road home after that. We considered stopping in Val Royeaux to let Celene's healers look at her, but she refused. Nothing but Skyhold would please her." Dorian eyed Cullen with a tired smiled. "I think you know why."

"Dammit," Cullen let go of a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and stood, walking to the end of the bed and staring down at its occupant. "Thank you for bringing her home."

"Cullen," Dorian climbed slowly to his feet. "When this is all over and we're still alive to celebrate ..."

"I know."

 

* * *

 

He watched her sleep for a long time, the way her chest rose and fell beneath the blankets and the slight frown between her brows when her breath would catch. The healers had shown up early the next morning, looked her over, placed a warm poultice over the developing scar on her chest, and pronounced that "her worship should keep resting.'" Leliana had followed the healer and was, even now, sitting on the balcony, watching the comings and goings in the courtyard below. He hadn't felt particularly inclined to leave his post by the Inquisitor's bed.

"C-cullen?"

"Are you awake this time?" he smiled down at her, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"I think so," she said quietly, wincing. "I'm hungry."

"That's a good sign," he answered. "I think Leliana brought something up, though it's likely broth."

"Broth sounds tremendous," she laughed and then frowned as a cough rattled her chest, making her gasp. She hissed through her teeth in pain as he helped her sit up, Leliana appearing as if by magic with more pillows to prop against the headboard of the bed.

"Drink this, my friend," Leliana said, sitting on the other side of the bed and holding out a vial of healing potion. "Adan went back to the mixing table, just for you. He gathered the ingredients in our garden, then spent the morning stirring and boiling while Elan fetched him things. If you wish for anything else, I'll ask him or get it for you myself."

"I need to speak with Morrigan," The elf said, taking the vial and drinking it carefully. She made a face at the flavor.

"I'll have her come up," Leliana promised, taking the empty container away. "Though today you are going to rest and have no company but Cullen and me."

 

* * *

 

"Why are you here?"

"You said people with interesting lives had a better chance of visiting interesting places in the Fade." She turned in a slow circle, looking around the mural room in Skyhold. It seemed little different than the original room outside the fade, though the murals seemed more vibrant - more alive. "I wanted to visit you and, well, I think I have had an interesting life. Wouldn't you agree?"

" _Lethallan,_ " Solas stared at her, a slight, unbidden smile crossing his lips. "Even now, you continue to amaze me."

"You were there," she said, her voice tight. "I was dying and I saw _Asha'Bellanar._ She left me for you to find, lying in a field of Halla deep within a dream. Why, Solas? Why would she do that?"

The smile fell away, his shoulders bent, and he stared at her with unhappy eyes.

"Solas ..."

"No," He stood and crossed to where she stood in the center of his small domain, taking her hands in his and looking into her eyes. "This is all of my own doing, and I cannot tell you why. I will not hold you here ... as it is my weakness that has caused you harm. " He leaned in close to her, and she could not look away from the intensity of his gaze. It hurt to see the sorrow there, so much so that she tried to pull away, but he only gripped her hands more tightly.

" _Wake up_."

 

* * *

 

"You look as though you have seen a ghost," the witch drawled when the Inquisitor opened her eyes. She was sitting on one side of the bed, draped elegantly across a pile of pillows, staring with bright, golden eyes at the elf.

"Morrigan."

"Yes, Inquisitor, that is still my name."

"Is there a reason you look like the cat that ate the cream?" It was difficult to keep the irritation out of her voice, but she was angry to the point of boiling over and had no strength for it.

An arched brow and a slow smile was the only reply to that question.

"I am sick to death of non-answers from people so wealthy with knowledge," the elf muttered.

"Perhaps you should have grown up with Mother," Morrigan said blithely. "She was the heart and soul of aggravation and annoyance, doling out knowledge as though it were in short supply. I had to scratch and claw at every point to find what knowledge I have now."

"Mythal was not so difficult for you."

"Was it not?" The witch's lips curved. "I have paid dearly for what I took from the Well of Sorrows. But you already know that part of my sad tale."

A sigh escaped her, it hitched a little in her chest, but breathing no longer hurt and the poultices from Adan had helped immensely. "I am sorry. I spoke out of frustration."

"You need not apologize. I have long been a woman of short temperament when it comes to ... well, every aspect of my life. Though none could rouse me so quickly as a certain Grey Warden fool. Sadly, he lives still, his life spared only because his lover was my dearest friend and he ..." she paused, smiling. "I am afraid that that is yet another secret."

"You mean Alistair."

"I do, the fool. Though he is not quite so hated as once he was. We sacrificed dearly to save Ferelden from the Blight." Morrigan paused, "Though I think you did not request my presence to provoke me into reminiscences of dark times."

"No, I did not ..."

"Is the question a secret, too? I fear that will make my task more difficult ..."

Lavellan laughed, though that _did_ cause her pain. When she had caught her breath, she said, simply. "Your mother walked into my dream as I was dying. I think she might have healed me in some way, though I am not comfortable guessing what it was she healed."

"My mother ...?" Morrigan began and then she sighed, changing course. "According to Seeker Cassandra, you were shot with a darkspawn shaft. They were all terrified that you would fall prey to the taint."

"Do you think that is what she did?"

"Perhaps you should describe to me this dream of yours and we shall see."

 

 

* * *

Ode to George

 _You cleaned the Latrines_  
You scrubbed down the walls  
You battened the hatches  
You buttered our Rum.  
Good George, now you're gone,  
We've all doffed our hats  
To honor your cause.  
Keep going good man,  
Through the dark of the Fade,  
May you sit by the Maker,  
Till we see you again.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

_Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over. ~_ Octavia Butler

* * *

 

Corypheus tore the world apart in the middle of a game of Wicked Grace. Dorian had just laid down the most perfect spread of cards that had ever come to his hand when the sky flared a sickly green and the breach broke open in the distant sky. Everyone left the Tavern to stare upward, the inner ward quickly filling with what remained of the Inquisition forces not still traveling back from the Arbor Wilds. Dorian, Bull, Sera, Cole, and Cassandra found themselves at the center of the crowd, staring upward with everyone else.

"Think that's Coryphe-face doin' that?" Sera asked, her voice subdued.

"I think that's what you call a temper tantrum," Varric answered.

Bull's chuckle rumbled through them, "So it's time."

"But are we ready?" Cassandra was not looking toward the Breach. She threw her practice blade to the ground and lead the group toward the castle proper, Dorian and Varric followed close on her heels.

In the War Room, they found grim-faced anger and not a little fear. Lavellan seemed angriest of all, staring down at the maps and all the disbursement of troops while the green energy around her hand snapped and hissed. She was pale and exhausted, the circles beneath her eyes and the stiffness in her movements attesting to the fact that she was still recovering. Leliana had disappeared, probably to send out messages to her agents, and Josephine was staring out the window, wide-eyed with the memory of the last time they'd faced the monster. The only one in the room who appeared at all at ease was Morrigan, but she'd faced down a Blight, an Arch Demon, and her mother was the embodiment of an elven goddess ... calm in the face of the insane was just another day in the life for her.

"So?" Cassandra said as she entered the room. Everyone but the Inquisitor looked at her.

"So we fight," said the elf.

"Good. It is time we were done with this," the Seeker said.

Lavellan turned and the two women locked gazes. She nodded, "It was always going to end this way." She looked around the room, pausing at each face before she looked out the window and to the Breach. Her stance shifted and she looked down at the flickering, flaring light in her palm, her lips curving. "Ready to get your asses kicked?"

"His first," Varric grinned.

 

* * *

 

Haven was a mess when they arrived, not that anyone expected anything more. Little was left of their former headquarters, now buried under a ton of rock and snow. They'd have to use the abandoned tunnels to get to the site of the old Temple, but that meant a lot of climbing and a lot of wasted time. What were left of the Inquisition forces fought hard to retake the temple grounds, retracing the steps they'd taken when the entire mess first began. Now, however, they were stronger, better trained, and better geared, and their Commander was giving the demons that met them as they pushed their way forward no quarter. Harding lead the scouts ahead, skirting through and around the more dangerous areas, creeping back to report, then diving in again.

Behind them came the Inquisitor and the rest. Cassandra was at the head of the group, boots crunching in the snow - they'd had to abandon the horses outside Haven. The terrain was too unstable to risk them beyond the pass, so they were on foot now. The Inquisitor was rolling her shoulder as she walked, working against the stiffness in her chest and the pain when she pulled her bow. Dorian and Varric, walking to either side of her, were worried.

"I'll be _fine_ , Varric," she said sharply, when he looked at her with concern yet again.

"I'm sure you will, Inquisitor," He replied, though his expression said the opposite.

"Then stop looking at me like I'm about to drop dead at any moment," she snapped.

"For what it's worth ..." Dorian began, but she gave him a frosty glare and he subsided, shrugging gently.

"Inquisitor," Solas said from directly behind her, causing the three of them to jump in shock. The Inquisitor nearly slid into a snow bank, but the other elf caught her and set her back onto her feet with an easy movement. "Perhaps I could be of assistance?"

"Thank you," she said, gently but firmly removing herself from his hands and starting after Cassandra again.

The three stood in the snow, watching her for a moment before the dwarf shrugged and started up the trail again. "I think she's mad at you, Chuckles."

"She should be," Solas answered, though his voice was barely audible.

 

* * *

 

They reached the final staging point around midnight. It was at the lip of a cave mouth that looked across the slagged expanse that had once been the Temple of Andraste. Cullen and Bulls' Chargers were waiting for them with fresh supplies. The sound of the Breach was almost too much this near to it, but there was a moment when he was able to catch her eye and pull her to the side. The words they'd spoken in the chapel hung between them and she was able to smile, to touch his cheek. He held her hand there for a breath, then turned his head and kissed her palm.

"Come back to me."

"I will."

 

* * *

 

The battle was going well until Corypheus threw the remnants of the Temple into the sky. They closed with him and he laughed, taunting them with words about godhood, interlopers, and other things no one cared to hear. They threw themselves into the oncoming tide and _hurt_ him, but still he boasted and ranted, dragging their party through the remnants of stone, the fade blending into the real until no one could tell which was which. She drew her bow and prayed to all the gods to give her strength, but the higher they climbed, the more tired she became.

At one point, she thought she saw the Black City in the distance, but when she looked again, it was nothing but the ravaged clouds, pulsing with the light of the Fade. Something grabbed her, threw her nearly over the edge and she screamed, clawing to get a grip on burnt and blackened stone ... slid a few feet and came up against a wall. The edge was twenty feet away.

"What ... ?"

There was no more time to question what she saw. The dragon that was also Morrigan fell to the ground, reducing into the witch's shape, and then her wounded foe, the lyrium dragon, was upon them. The Inquisitor's hand was flickering and spitting green fire, her fingers were numb, but the dragon eventually fell and Corypheus's spirit, red and gleaming with the tainted lyrium, flew upward. The Breach surged with power as he raged and she tottered. Solas grabbed her arms, kept her on her feet ... the world shifted, slowed.

"I can't ..."

"You must," he said.

"Are we in the Fade?" She could see figures moving along the rim of reality ... or was it real? She couldn't tell ... they were slow, almost frozen.

"Half way," he pressed a hand against her breast bone, over the scar, the frown deepening between his brows. "This is wrong."

"I know," she hitched a breath, wanting nothing more than to collapse here and rest. Just a little while.

"Close the breach and it will right itself," he said, but she saw the flicker in his expression.

"It will kill me," she said, watching the way the Fade and the real world slid in and out of view in a sickening dance. She shut her eyes.

"No," he answered. "It will not." His hand glowed blue against her chest and she fell to her knees, taking him down with her. He did not release her, though she struggled, pain flaring through her nerves ... and then he removed his hand with a crooked smile. "Not yet."

The world snapped back into place and she was being shaken back to consciousness by Cassandra. Solas was nowhere in sight and she staggered to her feet, drinking the potion that Dorian thrust into her hand. "What happened?"

"The Dragon thumped your head with its tail," Varric answered, yelling above the roaring of the Breach. "Come on! There's no time left!"

 

* * *

 

Another waking in the dark. This time, though, her hand wasn't spitting green sparks and Cassandra wasn't standing over her and glaring. Her chest hurt, a pain that crawled and sparked along a tear somewhere deep, but she tottered to her feet and looked around. Where had they all gone? Fear moved her forward as the memories returned. She heard someone moving and found him holding the fragments of the orb in his hands. She had defeated the monster ... hadn't she?

Whatever she said, it would be the wrong thing. She said it anyway. Sorrow twisted painfully inside of her, like a knot unraveling, and she would have moved to approach him, but someone was calling for her. Their eyes met.

"No matter what comes, I want you to know that we had was _real_."

"Inquisitor?" Cassandra's voice echoed off the stones.

She walked away, and when she looked back, Solas was gone.

It was time to return to Skyhold.

 

* * *

 

Waking up hungover was nothing new. Waking up hungover, sprawled in Lavellan's arms, and knowing that Corypheus was gone - _that_ was new and welcome. He never wanted to send her out into the dark like that again. The fear that she would not return had nearly gutted him while he waited during that last battle, unable to do anything but watch in horror once the landscape had suddenly shifted into the sky. When the beam of light had erupted from the utmost spire to crash into the Breach - he'd been certain no one would survive the collapse back to earth. Fortunately, he'd been wrong.

She had slept fitfully once they'd eventually got round to sleeping, whispering things in elvish that he could not understand. It sounded like an argument and then pleading. At one point, she'd gasped and sat up and he had had to quiet her back into sleep once more, the way she would do for him when he woke shaking with nightmares. He thought, watching her sleep now, that he would take her to meet his sister soon. They would get out of the castle for a while, visit Honnleath, and spend time together without constant interruptions.

"What a pair we are," he smiled at the ceiling before gently disentangling himself and sliding out of bed. By the light, it was well past noon. He dressed and tended the fire , then headed down the stairs to find food. He found Dorian and Varric on the stairs, Bianca at Varric's feet, and Dorian's mage staff to hand - though both of them were snoring companionably. Varric woke as Cullen tried to step past.

"Morning, Curly," he muttered, shifting as he sat up and found Bianca. "Ah. I remember now."

"Were we attacked in the night?" Cullen asked, brows lifted, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Just keeping the horde of admirers at bay," the dwarf chuckled. "Be careful out there. Some of the Orlesian ladies were trying to find you last night."

The Commander blanched and rubbed at the back of his neck, "In that case, I appreciate the guard."

"Glad to help out," Varric chuckled, nudging Dorian awake with an elbow. "Come on, Sparkler. Duties done."

 

* * *

 

" _Hear me, sons and daughters of the People-_  
 _I am Sister of the Moon, Mother of Hares,_  
 _Lady of the Hunt: Andruil."_

The words whispered around her as she entered the glade. Her fingers shivered against the string of her bow, arrow nocked and drawn. The wind danced and shivered the leaves while glimpses of the golden halla glittered in the corner of her vision, disappearing as soon as she turned to find it.

_Remember my teachings,_   
_Remember the Vir Tanadhal :_   
_The Way of Three Trees_   
_That I have given you._

The altar was covered in ivy, precious gems carved and inlaid all along the length of stone. A halla curled upon the broad ledge, sleeping among the greenery. The hunter stole closer, uncertain why she felt fear instead of comfort here, in what seemed a holy and peaceful place.

_Vir Assan: the Way of the Arrow_   
_Be swift and silent;_   
_Strike true, do not waver_   
_And let not your prey suffer._   
_That is my Way._

The closer she came to the altar, the warmer the air became. The plants beneath her feet no longer slid beneath her bare soles, but crunched and crushed drily, as though burnt beneath an unrelenting sun. The flowers along her path to the altar were not fresh blossoms, but seemed caught and dried. Her heart began to pound with fear, her fingers slipped and she had to breathe deeply, forcing herself forward.

_Vir Bor'assan: the Way of the Bow_   
_As the sapling bends, so must you._   
_In yielding, find resilience;_   
_In pliancy, find strength._   
_That is my Way._

The heat increased, the air seemed to burn and dance as the light tinted red.

_Vir Adahlen: the Way of the Wood_   
_Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness._   
_Respect the sacrifice of my children_   
_Know that your passing shall nourish them in turn._   
_That is my Way._

The Halla lifted her head, turned to look at Lavellan as she came to the steps leading up to the altar. Tears poured down the hunter's cheeks as the creature opened gleaming, scarlet eyes. The wound on her chest blossomed with sudden pain and she fell to her knees, screaming.

_Remember the Ways of the Hunter_   
_And I shall be with you._

There was no one nearby to wake her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE I: Evil Grin.
> 
> NOTE II: Last poem is the Charge of Andruil (http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Andruil:_Goddess_of_the_Hunt)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note I: From here on out, everyone gets a blankie!
> 
> Note II: Updates might be slower as we slide into the work week. Sadly, I must acquire a pay check and they frown on me writing Dragon Age fiction while I'm working. Sigh.

 

_A good friend can tell you what is the matter with you in a minute. He may not seem such a good friend after telling._ – Arthur Brisbane

* * *

 

"Ser Rutherford, I require a word with you before I depart."

He blinked and looked up from the ever-growing, ever-threatening to topple piles of reports on his desk and found himself nose to nose with the apostate witch. She smiled, which did little to comfort him. In matter of fact, his gut reaction was to wish himself a Templar once again, but that passed as quickly as her smile.

"Lady Morrigan," he rose and bowed politely, shoving his natural reaction to her presence into the back of his mind. She had been with the Hero of Ferelden and had helped to save the Circle Tower in Ferelden. He could manage to be polite, at least. "How may I assist you?"

"Oh, assistance is to be offered, as well as a word? I am delighted," she answered, moving around the room and circling back to stare at him. "You are with the Inquisitor, are you not? Romantically speaking."

He cleared his throat and then, feeling a little helpless beneath her all too knowing gaze, shrugged. "Must you ask what is already common knowledge?"

"I must, for there is a reason I am delayed in my departure. You are the most likely to aid me in finding out the source of the issue as the apostate elf vanished immediately following our victory."

HIs brow lifted at that and he stepped away from his desk, hands folded behind his back. "If you would speak more clearly, perhaps this might become less frustrating, Lady Morrigan."

"For you, perhaps. I find your discomfort enlightening; however, as I wish to depart and you wish me gone, if you help me with my request, both of us will achieve our desires." She smiled again, and he continued to frown. "This involves your Lady, Ser. A delicate question, but have you noted aught that might be ... uncommon with her of late? Has she been entirely herself?"

He stared at her, lips thinning into a line. "That is hardly your business, Morrigan."

"It is my business, as it delays me." She replied, unconcerned with his displeasure. "An' it concerns you because she is yet yours. Though my new companions whisper that not all is well with her."

"If you are referring to the voices from the Well of Sorrows ..."

"I am."

"She is not as she was before," He admitted, though it was a forced admission, spoken through gritted teeth. "Her nightmares bring her to screaming most nights and it takes a sleeping draught or she will not rest. In the field ... well .." he shook his head. "Dorian and Cassandra have taken to watching over her in the night or she wanders, as though in a dream."

"It is as I feared, then," the witch paused in her pacing, arms folded across her chest. "Something happened during the battle with Corypheus, and I am not certain what it was. She ... flickered from my sight when the dragon's tail struck her unconscious. I saw the apostate for the briefest moment in the center of the fight, staring at her with ... such an expression as I cannot define." She shivered and shook her head. "I was injured at the time, so not all is clear to me, but she did not walk unscathed from the final battle."

"And what do you think is going on?" Cullen asked. All feelings of irritation has dissolved as Morrigan spoke, his concern overriding any desire he might have had to argue.

"I believe I cannot determine the issue without a closer examination; however, all my attempts to approach her have been rebuffed," the mage explained, her voice turning a little brittle. "I count her among my friends, for she has treated me kindly since our first meeting, despite all the rumors and stories surrounding me. But now she treats me with ... distance."

He sighed and nodded, "Let me talk to her when they return."

"I thank you," Morrigan nodded, turning toward the door and opening. She paused in the entry, giving him a wicked smile over her shoulder. "I must say, you have greatly improved since your time in the Ferelden Circle. I must write to the Warden and let her know of your great fortune."

He rolled his eyes in exasperation and she laughed.

 

* * *

 

"Drink?" Varric offered the flask he'd been nursing to Dorian, who shook his head.

"No, thank you. I find it difficult to concentrate as it is," the mage replied, rubbing at his forehead. They were in the Emerald Graves, helping in the hunt for the remaining Venatori and doing another sweep to look for any remaining Fade Rifts. The nights were long in the depths of the forest, as well as cold. "I thought I would never say this, but I'm beginning to long for Solas to return."

"No kidding," The dwarf shook his head and glanced over toward the camp where the Inquisitor was supposed to be sleeping, though, from the murmuring he could hear, she was actually just arguing with Cassandra. The elf didn't _want_ to sleep, though her temper frayed and her health deteriorated. They were doing the best they could, but she seemed afraid to close her eyes, pushing them to the brink of night before she would even discuss heading back to camp.

"We're going home tomorrow," Dorian said. "That seems the best place to address things."

"Will she let us?" Varric asked, his voice hushed. "She's starting to remind me of my brother, the one who went crazy on red lyrium. I caught her talking to a tree two days ago. I think she thought it was a person."

"I .."

"STOP THIS NOW," Cassandra's voice bellowed from the ladies' tent, interrupting Dorian. Both men leapt to their feet, but the next sound was the sort of wretched sobbing that had them quietly taking their places once again, waiting for the next eruption with a sense of approaching doom.

"Fine," The tent flap opened and Cassandra exited, dressed in all but her plate. She paused, saw the two men sitting by the fire and made a disgusted sound. "You can deal with her. I am done."

They looked at one another as the warrior stomped off into the forest. Dorian looked back toward the tent and heaved himself to his feet. "And into the breach we go."

"Ha ha." Varric rolled his eyes. "Very funny."

 

* * *

 

"Ooooh, this is ... weird."

"What is weird? You seem determined to abuse us with the phrase, but seem to lack the ability to provide a reference for it."

"Please, Dagna ..."

"Sorry, Inquisitor, Lady Morrigan ... it's just, this is _really_ wei ... er strange. I mean, I'm not used to looking at bodies, you know, especially not yours, Madam Inquisitor - so this is completely new to me - but I think ... no, I _know_ that something got left behind when they pulled that arrow out of your chest."

"So all we must do is remove it ... " Morrigan began, reaching for a blade at her belt in a way that made the Inquisitor jerk and nearly fall off the examination table Dagna had brought to her quarters, and Cullen, Cassandra, and Dagna all step forward. The witch paused, "... or not."

"If it were just a piece of the arrowhead, then that's exactly what you would do - or have a healer do, that would be better," Dagna explained, her words nearly tripping over each other. "But this isn't that. This is something else entirely. It _looks_ like a piece of red lyrium ... or something infected by the taint ... that's what red Lyrium seems to be, as far as we can tell. But this is different, and I'm not sure _how_ it's different. So, while I'd love for us to remove it so I could study it, I'm not sure what that would do to the Inquisitor, you know?"

The Inquisitor sat up slowly and tugged her clothes back together. "Would it stop the nightmares?"

"I don't know," Dagan gave a helpless shrug. "There's only one certain way I know to stop people from having nightmares, but ... uh ... they tend to be less than people when it's done. You'd have to disconnect from the Fade somehow."

"You mean the Tranquil," Cullen said, frowning.

"Yes, Ser. Thing is, with the key ... I mean anchor ... in her hand, the Inquisitor's the last person you'd want to make Tranquil. I'm not even sure you could. And she's not a mage, either ... so ..." Dagna shrugged. "The important thing is that if she's not having nightmares, she's not in danger from demons in the Fade. And, right now, that's a pretty big danger."

"There are ways to do it without harming her mind," Cassandra said slowly, looking at the Inquisitor with a solemn expression. "But I do not think you are in the state of mind to meditate or complete the steps required. It would be a little strange to turn you into a Seeker, my Lady."

"It would be a little strange to _be_ a Seeker, Cassandra," Lavellan smiled, though it was a strained, tired expression. "I'm not certain I have the faith for it, for one. But I most certainly do not wish to be made Tranquil, if that works on non-mages."

"We could ask Cole to help," Cullen suggested, then flushed when everyone stared at him. " _Maker's Breath!_ I know I objected to his presence at the beginning, but he's proven himself!"

"Cole is not speaking with me, at present. He told me a week ago that I 'go too far' for him to reach, whatever that means." The Inquisitor sighed and stood, shoulders bent. "I am sorry for all of this so soon after we thought we were finished."

"You were wounded in battle," Cassandra said. "A battle doesn't end when the soldiers win. For some it remains with them for the rest of their lives, or until they are healed enough to go on with life. Maker knows we've all been carried off the field enough times. As long as you're alive, there is hope."

"And this is why they're making you the new Divine," Cullen said with a smile, offering Cassandra a small bow.

"Ugh," Cassandra deflated a little. "If I survive all the ceremonies."

 

* * *

 

"We could still go to Honnleath," Cullen said that night, holding her in his arms in front of the fire. "There's a cottage on the lake where we could stay and my sister's food is amazing. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"I would like that," she answered, looking up at him. "But ... what if ... "

"I know."

"Varric says I have the worst luck in the world," she said after a moment.

"It's not all bad," Cullen protested. "You've brought me a great deal of luck."

"Clever man," she laughed, relaxing against him as he kissed her. A while later she said, softly, "Cullen ... if I wake you ..."

"Do not be afraid," he whispered, tracing the line of her nose with a finger. "Between the two of us, we will never get a full night's sleep, but I do not mind so much as long as I wake with you there."

 

* * *

 

The line between real and not-real was thinning, and it was worse when other people were not nearby or when navigating the castle. She felt as though she were stepping in and out of the fade without willing it. A walk along the top of the wall was an adventure in pretending not to see people who did not exist and not bumping into the people who did. On at least two occasions, she barely escaped a tumble down the stairs and had to sit down and put her head in her hands. That was when Cole decided to be friends again, though he would not stop talking about her state of mind. He was able to help her navigate by identifying who was Fade and who was Real, and, once she got him to do so without calling attention to what he was doing, it made everything a little bit easier.

Until he said, "You're not dead ... unless you are? Cole was dead, but he did not stay. Are you going to go, too?"

At which point, she escaped Cole only to get lost on her way to the gardens, walking up a stairway that wasn't there and falling to the floor in the center of someone's bedroom. The occupants were not present, thank the gods. But it took her a half an hour to make her way to the Great Hall and she had a hole in the knee of her leggings and a bruised elbow when she finally got there.

"Inquisitor?" Varric asked when she staggered through the door. She saw a flicker behind him and, thinking it was just another spirit, began to speak ... and something metal flashed from the figure and she fell as someone swore in Orlesian and pushed her out of the way. The dagger that had sailed past Varric's ear imbedded it itself in the high wooden door, and a shout went up in the Hall as everyone surged to capture the would-be assassin.

"Damn. We need to get you out of here," Varric said, looking pale as he helped to her feet. "Come on, your Inquisitorialness. Let's get you somewhere safe."


	10. Chapter 10

_A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words._ \- Unknown

* * *

 

"Safe" turned out to be anything but. Blades were waiting on the stairs to her quarters, Crows by the look of them and armed to the teeth. Bianca was in Varric's quarters and Lavellan's bow was somewhere past the assassins in her rooms. All she had were the daggers in her boot and a quick arm to throw them. Varric had nothing but his fists – nice dwarven fists that had withstood a few brawls, fortunately. Still, they were fighting Antivan Crows. Even at their best, it was not enough to fight the Crows without armor or weaponry. Close quarters on the edge of a plunge made for tense fighting, and there was the poison to worry about, as well. At least two of the assassins went plunging to the stone floor below, but there were three more still standing.

Varric shouted and she turned, saw him fall to the floor, a dagger standing out of his shoulder. Before she could react, they were on her, blades glittering with blood and steel. She edged away from the two above her on the stairs, keeping her back to the stone wall. Her foot nudged the dwarf's prone form and she found herself wishing they could be anywhere but here. She heard herself cursing them as she lifted he left hand, green fire flaring from her palm. The room was distorting, she could see figures shifting on the other side of the veil … all she had to do was … jump.

 

* * *

 

"Sit still."

"Ow! That hurts, you know."

"It'll hurt worse if you don't hush," she chided.

"Fine." He looked around them speculatively – it wasn't a place he recognized, but it didn't look like the Fade, either. "So, where exactly _are_ we?"

"The Glade," she said, her voice a little sharp when she said it. They were sitting in the grass on the edge of a green glade while she used the remnants of his shirt and moss from a nearby rock to wrap his arm. They were both sporting a variety of cuts and bruises, some fairly serious, but he was the only one who had been outright stabbed. Fortunately, it didn't seem like any of the blades had been poisoned. She glanced around nervously, "It's … a place from my dreams."

"So it's the Fade."

"Maybe? I'm not certain. Something's wrong with it."

"It looks okay," he said. It was an open place in a deep forest. Tall trees bordered a green full of flowers and moss. On one side, opposite them, was a Dalish altar almost completely covered with flowers and ivy. There were even halla grazing nearby, their ears flicking back and forth.

"You haven't really looked," she answered, tying off his bandage and sitting back on her heels.

"I'm a city dwarf, your Worship. The woods aren't exactly my thing."

"This is the Grove of Andruil," she explained. "In the _Free Marches_ , Varric. Last I checked, that was several days journey away from Skyhold."

"Oh."

"Exactly," she seemed to be watching the altar itself, he noticed, and a particular halla who lay upon it. In fact, at the sight of that Halla, her anxiety had increased to the point that he could see her pulse beating at her throat.

"So, what's so special about the Grove of Andruil?" he ventured, trying to distract her. "I mean she's the goddess of the hunt, so it makes sense that you're here."

"When I still had my vallaslin, it was her symbol that marked me. My entire life, I was raised to honor her and follow her path. If I had been born a healer, it would have been Sylaise, but I was never gifted enough with magic to heal anyone."

"So this is where you'd go to worship?" he guessed.

"Yes," she nodded, rubbing at a cut on the side of her hand and hissing a little. "Every season we'd come here to pray and make offerings. We thought we knew who it was we worshiped, but it appears my people are woefully misinformed about who we are … or were."

"What changed?"

"The Temple of Mythal," her voice shifted, her expression one of disbelief … or betrayal. "I read what was inscribed on the walls there after Morrigan helped me understand the texts the scholars sent back to Skyhold. None of the gods were the same, but … Andruil …" she shut her eyes. "Andruil was mad with bloodlust. She sought to kill the Forgotten Ones and her fury tainted the world, along with all the creatures in it. Only Mythal could stop her."

"Maker," Varric breathed, his eyes widening.

"I …" Lavellan had opened her eyes, looking at him as she spoke, but she froze at the expression in his eyes. "Varric?"

The Halla with the glowing red eyes was standing directly behind her, long tendrils of scarlet light creeping along its body, staining the snowy hide.

 

* * *

 

Cullen nearly broke his hand, he'd punched the wall so hard – while wearing gauntlets. Cassandra wasn't far behind. They'd heard Varric's shout only to enter the tower stair to find three confused and soon to be dead assassins staring around in utter confusion. Cassandra tipped one over the rail while Cullen laid the other two to rest. Then she, staring down into the dark at the base of the tower, cursed and began shouting for a ladder to be brought immediately. "We must be sure neither of them were thrown down."

There was blood everywhere and they were busy for a few moments turning over bodies, but neither of them found either Varric or the Inquisitor. Dorian ran up the stairs to check the bedroom above and, after a shout and several explosions, came back to report that while the last assassin appeared to be deceased, he had found no sign of either the dwarf or the elf.

"They can't be dead," Cassandra said, disbelieving. "If they were dead, there would be bodies."

"They're not up here," Dorian called down the stairs.

"That's impossible. Everyone saw them go into the Tower, so unless they fell …" Cassandra argued, mostly with herself.

"The last time the Inquisitor fell, she created a portal into the Fade," Dorian pointed out.

"You think they went back to the Fade?"

"The Tevinter mage is correct, I believe," Morrigan said from the lower doorway. She nudged one of the bodies with a toe and made an expression of distaste. "I felt the pull as she opened the veil – though I am not certain they went properly into the Fade. Alas, I arrived too late to follow her directly."

"Morrigan," Cullen's growl won him a startled glance from Cassandra and a sideways look from the witch.

"It will take some effort to follow her path, but I _can try_ , Commander. I would not leave her there."

"Do it," Cassandra did not hesitate.

 

* * *

 

He reached for Bianca out of instinct, but she wasn't there, which meant he couldn't shoot the demon halla in the face with a frost bolt. The Inquisitor, equally weaponless, was sliding away from the creature on quiet feet, but he could see the shudders rippling through her. Whatever had been keeping her together in the real world was a lot farther away when they were in the Fade. This was her nightmare, and this was not a dream.

"I think it's time to run," he said, grabbing the elf's hand firmly in his and dragging her out of the glade and into the woods. His shoulder ached with a sharp, burning pain which should have slowed him down, but he focused on it as a reminder that he was real and that this was not a dream. They crashed through the underbrush – well, he crashed, the Inquisitor ran on near silent feet; dwarves weren't exactly built for forest-running. Now that he'd got her moving, she was shifting fear into action and doing what she did best – changing the odds.

The forest ended abruptly on the edge of a rough-hewn escarpment that drifted in the void above other, similar islands. It didn't look like the regular Fade, exactly, though the floating islands were a familiar theme. It looked as though someone had ripped chunks out of the real world and sent them flying into the sky until there was nothing below them and only the Black City high above. They stared at it for a moment, breathing hard, her hand grasped tightly in his. Behind them, in the distance, they could hear the crashing sound as the halla attempted to pursue them.

"Varric, we have to keep moving," she said, turning her head to listen behind them.

"There'll be a way to get to the other islands. There usually is," he answered, turning to from the ledge and back into the forest.

"How do you know?" She asked, moving ahead once more and leading him through the trees. If she looked over their shoulders constantly, he couldn't blame her. That halla was terrifying him, too, though it seemed they had outrun it for now.

"Had a few experiences in the Fade with Hawke," he stopped walking and she turned to see why. "I thought you read _The Champion of Kirkwall_?"

"I did … oh!" She laughed suddenly as she remembered, "I remember it now. Hawke went into the Fade to deal with the apostate mage who was in a coma."

"That's right," he answered, and they started walking again. "I was about to think you lied to me there, Inquisitor."

"I would _never_ ," she grinned as they clambered their way around a boulder and slide down the opposite side. They'd had to let go of each other for a moment, but the minute their feet hit the ground, she held her hand out for his once more. He took it without question, noticing the way she relaxed when he did, so they kept walking while he told her what had _really_ happened when he'd been in the Fade with the Champion.

 

* * *

 

It was decided that Dorian and Morrigan would enter the Fade in search of Varric and the Inquisitor. Cassandra agreed to watch over the sleepers, but Cullen had to be convinced that he was needed on the other side, in case someone randomly combusted into an abomination. It left him seething with frustration, pacing from one end of the Inquisitor's chambers to the other until Cassandra told him to either sit down or get out. He sat down, though he continued to glare at everyone and everything. Morrigan rolled her eyes and muttered something about Templars that nearly set him off again, but soon enough the adventurers were stretched out on the carpet while Morrigan cast her spell.

Dorian woke in a long, arched hallway, elven by the look of it, with trees visible through the clerestories. It looked, he thought, like the Hall of the Emerald Warriors and he paced around for a few minutes, observing the curve of the architecture and the echoes of spirits long past. Elven men and women were fighting in the halls, the twanging of their bow strings startling him when he walked too near an archer. For a moment, he thought he was looking at Levellan, but then the head turned and he saw the woman had bright hair instead of dark.

"This is odd," he muttered, remembering that there was a hole in one of the walls that lead outside. He took that route, edging past a pair of spirits engaged in a secret liaison behind a ghostly tapestry. He paused for a moment of appreciation, but the treetops outside shivered and he thought he heard something intelligible in the rustling of the leaves, so he pressed on, ducking through the broken wall to find himself in a hazy, disorienting forest.

The Fade can be a tricky place, even when one is on the very edge of it.

Remembering the instructions Morrigan had given before they'd set out, he kept an eye out for exits. It was not unusual to wake up in separately in a fade-walking dream, and neither mage was sure exactly how they would locate their lost friends. Morrigan had said to watch for her signal, so that's what he did, though he wondered how she would pull it off in someone else's dream. He focused on remaining calm and being as unattractive to demons as possible and, eventually, he came upon a clearing in the center of the forest full of Halla and adorned with a simple, ivy covered altar. He approached the altar, eying the symbols carved into it with curiosity, and was about to touch one of the gem stones set into the pattern when a low growl rose from behind him and he froze.

"Slowly, slowly," he murmured to himself, turning to see what creature had decided to take him out to dinner.

The wolf's hackles were lifted, gold eyes narrowed in suspicion as it bared its teeth at him and snapped. Dorian backed slowly, cautiously away, moving to the opposite end of the altar. The wolf danced closer, closer … and he realized with the clarity of a dream that this had to be Morrigan. Both his hands went into the air, palms facing her, and he spoke very, very calmly into the Glade without directly meeting her gaze.

"I don't know why you're so angry when you're the one who brought me here."

She paced around him, her fur shivering as she growled, but she did not approach or bite and the tenor of the growling shifted. He crouched down in front of her, holding out a tanned hand, the rings on his fingers glinting in the dappled light. "Come on, Witch," he murmured. "I know you remember why we're here. You wouldn't forget, not after you've poured so much effort into everyone."

Her lips rose, revealing fine, white fangs, ready to snap his fingers off at the knuckle. He halted, held his hand in front of her, and willed himself into stillness, clarity, friendliness. If a wolf could scowl, this one did and sat back on its haunches, looking disgusted. Within a moment, she was herself once more, sitting on the moss in front of the Altar of Alduin clad in her usual garb.

"Welcome back." He said, only to see her lips curled in a way that reminded of the wolf she had just been. Dorian watched as she levered herself up and began to look around, her demeanor stiff and annoyed. "So, were you stuck like that?"

"Of course not," she snapped as she stalked across the clearing. "Have you seen aught of our stragglers?"

"Nothing as yet. I had no more arrived than you were growling at my back," he said, following her.

She paused, studying the ground at their feet. "There is blood here … and the moss is disturbed." She took something from among the greenery and held it up for him to see – a bit of scarlet silk with golden threads.

"That's Varric's," he said, smiling for the first time since they'd got here.

"So they _are_ here," she nodded. "I had begun to doubt."

"Frankly, so had I," he admitted. "The question now is how do we track them. I am afraid my woodcraft is poor."

"Mine is not," the witch grinned suddenly, looking rather more feral than usual. " _I_ grew up in the Kocari Wilds as a girl and have learned to turn my magic to certain purpose in the woods."

"Then we are fortunate you are here," Dorian said drily. "Do lead on."


	11. Chapter 11

_NOTE_ _: This was REALLY difficult to write. I kinda have an idea where I want the story to go, and ... having a little bit of trouble getting it to do what I want it to do._

* * *

_.  
_

_If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there. ~_ Lewis Carroll

* * *

 

An Eluvian stood on the edge of the wood. On the one side stood the forest and the heavy, wind-tossed trees, and, on the other, nothing. Varric and the Inquisitor left the tree line and crossed the rocky, mossy earth to stand in front the giant mirror that gleamed and flicked with distorted light. Behind them came the sound of a snorting animal and the cracking of branches as the creature sought to move forward.

"Do you know how to open it?" He asked her. "I mean, neither of us are mages."

"I don't know … Morrigan just gestures at hers," she said, looking over her shoulder. A gleam of white and red flared in the shadows and she swallowed, "There's always the anchor."

"We should probably try that," he answered. "I've got you, okay? Just … do what you've got to do."

He didn't tell her to hurry or mention that using the anchor on an eluvian without knowing what the hell they were doing might just kill them both and rip another hole in reality. They were both aware of what might happen, but neither of them wanted to be that close to the 'Creepy Halla,' as Varric had been calling it. She held her hand up to the eluvian and the green energy surged and snapped forward into the eluvian in a stream. He heard her gasp and _felt_ the energy racing through her, felt his own heart beat speeding, and then heard her cry out as something blue and electric joined the green coming out of her hand, washing the mirror surface with light.

The eluvian flared and the power pooled into a smooth sheet of near blinding radiance. The elf was bent over in pain, her breath sobbing out of her in little gasps, and it was all Varric could do not to join her. It _hurt_ to touch her. But the mirror seemed to be open now, and, he ascertained with a quick glance, the over-friendly Halla with the red-lyrium eyes was stalking toward them down the rise from the forest edge. It paused and tossed its head, pawing at the ground, and Varric did the only thing he could think of – he wrapped both arms around the Inquisitor's waist and dove into the mirror.

 

* * *

 

Dorian saw the halla first. The feeling that crawled off the creature was enough to convince him that touching the witch was a good idea, so he did, shaking her till she stood upright and complained that he was 'manhandling' her ... until she saw the 'demon halla' and her mouth fell open. It would have been funny had Dorian not been in a state of dead panic. "Maker," He breathed. "What do we do?"

"How am I supposed to know?" she snapped. "This isn't _my_ dream. Blame that Inquisitor of yours."

"Oh, so she's your best friend when things are going well, but the minute things go badly, you blame her and tell me she's _my_ inquisitor? Badly done, Lady Morrigan," he answered.

"The eluvian!" Morrigan exclaimed as they came around the bend and the Halla bounded forward, its antlers lowered toward the two figures in front of the mirror. It skidded to a halt, bucking its legs high into the air as Varric grabbed the Inquisitor and dove through the mirror's shifting surface. At which point, Morrigan grabbed Dorian's arm and ran forward after Varric, barely dodging past the shaken horns and tossing them both into the eluvian with a strength he would not have guessed she had.

They landed on top of Varric, who grunted, and the Inquisitor, who wasn't particularly conscious. Morrigan extricated herself and bent over Lavellan, who looked pale and drained in the half-light. Even her lips lacked color, which was frightening in and of itself. Scarier yet was that the mark on her hand was still pulsing with blue and green light, and, they discovered as Morrigan pushed up the elf's sleeve, a long line of glowing blue led from the mark, up her arm, and to the scar on her chest.

"Where are we?" Dorian muttered as he climbed to his feet beside Varric. They were in another forest, but this glade had a ring of burnt-out aravels beside the statue of a resting wolf. It was cold here, and the air the smelt strongly of the ash that shifted at their feet.

"I think," Varric paused, looking back at the unconscious Inquisitor. "I think these are her memories … or her fears. Her family died early on, while we were still in Haven. They were attacked by local humans and … well, butchered to death, from what I heard."

"Maker preserve us," the mage rubbed a hand across his face.

Light rose around Morrigan as she murmured above the prone body before her. It did little more than light up their surroundings, however, and the witch gave them a glare. "I'm trying." She snapped, "She yet breathes, but ... "

"When she opened the eluvian, it looked as though that … blue light … was being sucked out of her," Varric said, kneeling down next to Lavellan and picking up her hand.

"We need to find an exit … possibly an eluvian or a rift," Morrigan explained. "If you see any glowing blue crystals anywhere, we might be able to use those to wake her."

"I don't supposed the wolf statue turning into a real wolf is at all significant?" Dorian asked.

The wolf was sitting in the midst of the aravels when they looked up. He appeared very much the regular lupine creature, though perhaps a little larger than most, and his fur was the typical mottled gray, white, and black. There was nothing odd about his eyes and he wasn't leaking trails of lyrium-red. The three still conscious froze in place, watching the creature with narrowed gazes. He seemed to ignore them entirely, climbing to his feet after a few moments and padding across the space between them on long, straight legs.

"Guys …" Varric said quietly, rubbing at the wound in his shoulder unthinkingly. The wolf gave him what could almost be considered an amused look out of one eye as it trotted to the elf. It circled her a few times first, as though deciding what to do, and then laid itself down alongside her, its long, narrow muzzle propped on her chest, over the scar. The gleaming blue light along her veins dimmed and the color began to return to her face.

"That's … not a demon," Varric said, though he still found himself backing up a step.

"Indeed, It is not," the witch agreed.

"What is it, then?"

"A clan guardian, perhaps?" Morrigan offered. "They once were common among the Dalish. It was said at some point that her clan worshiped the Dread Wolf as a guardian deity."

The wolf turned its head a little, rolling an eye toward Morrigan as it growled, then huffed at her - a demanding sound. She backed up a step, hauling Dorian back along with her. The wolf made a satisfied, sighing sound and began to fade, degree by degree from their site while little flickers of energy pinged and sparked along the Inquisitor's prone form.

"I'm gonna guess that that's some kind of spirit," Varric drawled. "One of the good ones Solas was always going on about."

"You may be correct," Morrigan answered and then paused as the Inquisitor's eyes flickered open and she looked up at the three of them with a frown between her brows.

"Why do the two of you look so hazy?" Lavellan asked.

 

* * *

 

Dagna was, to put it mildly, borderline hysterical with ecstasy. She measured everything, then she watched Morrigan and Dorian sleeping as she carefully jotted down notes. Equipment that normally stayed in the undercroft was brought up and she peered at the sleepers through a variety of lenses before giving a satisfied little woop! "I think I know what happened now!"

"I hope this means you can get them back?" Cullen asked, looking at her with a grim expression.

Dagna swallowed and made a helpless gesture with her hands, "I _think_ so? Basically, we'll have to wake up the sleepers here, but while we're doing it, we need to manipulate the Fade to open a doorway back. And I have a rune the Inquisitor helped me make that ... should do the trick. Probably."

"Probably?"

The young dwarf gave him a helpless 'don't hurt me' smile and went back to work. Cullen looked across to Cassandra, who was waiting at the top of the stairs, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. The Seeker shrugged, "We are left with no choice, Cullen. We wait either way."

 

* * *

 

The Inquisitor was exhausted and Varric was little better. His shoulder hurt like hell and all the other cuts and bruises really needed a healing potion. He noticed, though, despite the heavy feeling in his legs, that she was walking right next to him, her left hand on his non-abused shoulder, and it made him feel a little better. Dorian and Morrigan, on the other hand, wouldn't stop bickering. He shrugged it off, they'd hear about it later in his next book.

"I dreamed about this place, too," Lavellan said as they walked through the burnt out glade and then into the forest. "In that dream, Fen'Harel appeared and kept me from joining in the battle. I ... wonder now if I was actually in danger. The Dread Wolf often gives gifts that seem more like curses."

Ahead of them, they saw the break in the trees and the way the sky seemed to go on forever with the Black City visible off in the distance, and turned together to walk along the perimeter of the island. Lavellan walked a little ahead with Varric, who was doing a good job of making her laugh. Morrigan kept stopping to examine things along the way.

"My Lady?"

She turned at the sound of his voice, her hand still on Varric's shoulder, to find Dorian behind her, a strange smile on his face and lines of red licking at his eyes. She jerked back a step, but before she could open her mouth to scream, he plunged a shard of red lyrium deep into her chest.

 

* * *

 

Dorian woke with a yell and leapt up from the carpet, casting around as though he expected to find himself surrounded by monsters. What he found were Cullen and Cassandra's blades at his throat and Dagna staring at him with wide, not quite frightened enough eyes.

"I ... we went through an eluvian, but when I got out the other side, I couldn't find them," he gasped, "We were in a forest the Fade and then I was in my father's house. There were envy demons everywhere, smashing things to bits and pretending they were old friends. When I'd reveal them for what they were, they told me they would have her. Nothing I did worked! I think ... I think they know where she is. I'm sure of it!"

"You became separated from the others?" Cassandra demanded and Dorian dropped into a chair, his hands over his face. "Yes! I passed mirrors on the walls that showed me the three of them walking through a forest with a demon on their heels. I thought they must be taunting me."

"How did you wake up?" Cullen growled, pacing again. His sword had come out of it's scabbard at this point.

Dagna raised her hand into the air, wiggling her fingers slightly. "That was me, Sir. I could see that Ser Dorian wasn't in the same area as the others, so I pulled him out."

Cassandra whirled on the dwarf with a glare, "WARN us next time, Dagna."

"Yes, Ma'am," the Arcanist squeaked. "Do you want me to start bringing the rest of them back now ... or ...?"

"Yes," Cullen and Cassandra said together.

 

* * *

 

Morrigan shifted so quickly that one moment she was human and the next she was a wolf, setting upon Dorian with a vengeance and knocking him into the forest on the first leap. The man took the hit and gave a deep, sonorous laugh, shifting forms even as she clawed at him. He turned into Kieran, then Flemeth, then into the Hero of Ferelden, and back to Kieren ... all with half their faces torn off ... and he laughed and laughed. It only made the witch angrier and she went for his throat.

While Morrigan took on the demon, Varric was kneeling over the Inquisitor and trying to stop the bleeding. "Come on ... it's just the Fade. It's not even real, right?" He muttered to himself, ripping of his own shirt to press against the hole the demon had made. Lavellan moved under his hands, hissing in pain and shock ... and then she put her hand on his arm, slippery with her own blood., "V-Varric?"

And her hand blazed in a sudden show of violent green light.

.

.

NOTE II: There's a reason for all this, I promise!


	12. Chapter 12

" _We walked to the brink and we looked it in the face_." ~ John Foster Dulles

* * *

 

The green fire flared and sputtered, the Inquisitor gasped a final, ragged breath, and lay still. Varric called her name. He pled with her to hold on just a little longer. But it was no use. She did not sit up again or open her eyes, her breath had stilled in her chest. His hands, he thought as he stared down at them, were covered in her blood. He looked at the pale face, at her hands lying limp at her sides, and felt something inside of him crack as the last little licks of green fire stroked up and down her arm for a few moments before they, too, died.

"Varric?" Morrigan's voice seemed far away and his head felt too heavy to lift. He had no room left for anything else.

The forest around them began to slip away, dissolving like oils slipping down a wet surface until there was nothing but the gray and crooked world of the Fade. He took Lavellan's small, cold hand in his, remembering how she had drawn him through the forest, how she had trusted him, how she had been his friend …

"Dare I ask why you are sitting there in the dark holding fast to what appears to be a …" Morrigan tilted her head, reaching out a foot to nudge at the dead body. "I'm not actually certain if that is a nug or a rat."

"What?" He stared at her in disbelief. "What is wrong with you? The Inquisitor is dead, witch, and you're making jokes about it?"

"The Inquisitor is _not_ dead, you idiot dwarf." Morrigan paused, sighed heavily, and walked over to him. "Fine. I am _sorry_ that you believe the Inquisitor has died, but if you will look around you, you will find that you are in the _Fade._ What looks real to you now may not in fact be real."

"But …she's right here," he protested.

"We went through a portal," she said, shrugging. "It is possible we were again separated. If the Inquisitor is dead, what was it that killed her?"

"Dorian … or something with his face," He began, and then added, "With a shard of red lyrium."

"I see no red lyrium anywhere about. Do you?"

The body he'd been mourning changed before his eyes and he stood abruptly, swearing, as he found he'd been clutching the paw of something … well, not quite a nug, but definitely not a human. "Andraste's Tits!"

"There there, it'll be all right." Morrigan patted his shoulder and rolled her eyes. "Are you ready to be useful again?"

He gave her a cold look and turned in a slow circle. This was the Fade he remembered – dank, twisted, dirty, and … well, disgusting. Strangely, seeing it in its familiar shape made him feel safer than he had in the forests. "What now?"

"Now we find the exit. Our friends are sure to show up somewhere along the way."

"How did you get here?" He asked, following along behind her. "I remember there being a fight, and then she tossed us into the Fade. I don't recall you being nearby."

" _I_ got here the usual way," Morrigan answered, poking at something along their path with the end of her staff – which she hadn't had before, he remembered.

"You mean you bullied someone into letting you cast a spell and dragged yourself and Dorian into the Fade to save us? I'm flattered."

"More or less, yes," she agreed, following the path up a small hill between twisted, broken rocks. She paused for a moment, looking thoughtfully along the path ahead, "There are fewer demons here than I expected."

"Maybe we got lucky?"

"Doubtful."

They walked on for a while along the twisting canyon paths, past vignettes of lost or barely remembered lives. A table set in the middle of an outcropping of rocks, set for tea. A throne teetering on the edge of a cliff. At one point, they passed a gallows with a skeleton swaying from a noose.

"Definitely the Fade I remember," Varric said aloud.

They began to hear voices ahead of them, one of them familiar, the other quieter, less distinguishable. Varric picked up the pace around the curve of the rocks ahead.

"He's a human, _ma'len_ ," an old, bent elf dressed in colorful keepers robes said gently, her hands clasped round the haft of a gnarled staff. "You know this is not our way."

"I tried _our way_ ," Lavellan snapped in return. "It did not work." She was dressed in more traditional clothing herself, a long, intricate leather jacket over leggings, with her hair plaited back from her face and a beautifully carved bow in her left hand. "I came here for your blessing, _hahren_. I did not expect your condemnation. Can't you see that this is what I want? What does it harm?"

"The more our people spend among the humans, the less we remember," the Keeper said gently. "The less we become. Why could you not find one of our own people? You've gone so far away from what we are. Where is your _Vallaslin_? Where is your honor? Have you forsaken our gods?"

"I told you already, I …"

"We cannot support you in this, my child," the old elf said, turning slowly till her back was to the Inquisitor, "When you have seen the error of your path, you may return."

Lavellan's shoulders sagged and she ran a hand across her face – she looked as though she had been arguing this for hours and hours and … Varric looked at Morrigan. "So, that's a demon, right?"

"Most likely."

"But what kind?" He _really_ missed Bianca.

"Does it matter?" The witch smiled crookedly. "We must break her free of it, regardless."

 

* * *

 

Cassandra and Dagna watched as Cullen and Dorian paced back and forth across the carpet. It had only been an hour or so since Dorian had wakened. Morrigan, of course, was lying quite still before the fire, her chest moving with each slow breath. Dorian had been about to slide a pillow beneath her head when the witch gave a startled gasp! And sat up, staring around with widened eyes. "Wait … I…!"

"Morrigan? What happened? Where are they?" Cullen demanded.

"As usual, nothing is as it seems within the Fade." She answered, allowing Cassandra to pull her to her feet. It took the mage a moment to get her bearings, but once she had, she headed for the stairs. "There is only one place I can think of. Come." She commanded. They followed hot upon her heels, down the stairs and then to the ladder. "They fell, did they not?" She smirked, "I think you will find that they are somewhere in the tower, though not where we believed they _should_ be."

Cullen was already on his way down the ladder as she spoke, his head disappearing into the dim recesses of the work area. "Honestly, Morrigan, I don't care. Just tell us where they are."

"It is not that easy, Commander," She said, exasperation coloring her voice.

"Try _harder_."

"When she snapped them into the Fade, your Inquisitor was already halfway in it. The Portal displaced them as they fell, so they ought to be somewhere near kitchen or the wine cellar," she growled, irritated.

"So they did not go … physically into the Fade?" Cassandra asked, looking relieved.

"No more than Dorian or I did."

 

* * *

 

Varric saw the blue light hit Morrigan in the chest just as he approached the demon and the Inquisitor. It flared as it hit and Morrigan gave a startled yelp! Then she was gone. Varric stared at the empty space for a long moment, then shrugged and trudged onward. At this point, nothing surprised him anymore.

Lavellan had begun speaking yet again, trying to explain to the Keeper that she was different now, that she was no longer in the Forest as a hunter - that the Inquisition needed her. But the demon held it's back to her, pushing her further into despair.

"Why can't you understand?" She cried out, her shoulders bowed with grief. "Even if you insist on it, we were wrong about everything anyway!"

"Hey, Your Worship," He said, climbing up onto the rock where she stood with the Keeper. The Keeper ignored him as it was ignoring his friend. "Friend of yours?"

"Varric … you have to help me to explain this. Nothing I say is making a difference."

"It's not going to, kid," He answered tiredly, pointing at the Keeper. "You know that she's dead, right? That that's not actually your Keeper."

"That's ridiculous, Varric," The Inquisitor paced along the edge of the rock. "You've been with me this entire journey. They were just hiding from the infected Halla. That's all. I followed a wolf to this Glade and the Keeper was waiting for me."

"Yeah, well, about that … I saw you die a little bit ago, and I'm pretty sure that you're not actually dead."

"Varric, you couldn't have seen me die …"

"We're in the Fade. You can see a lot of messed up shit here," he interrupted. "You _know_ the Keeper is dead and you've known we were in the Fade since we got here."

"But, I …"

"You just want to make them accept that you've got it hard for a human?" He asked, "You want them to accept you back into the fold and make everything better?"

The Keeper had turned to stare at him, her wrinkled lip curling in disgust, " _Durgen'len_ , you have no influence among our people. You couldn't even keep your own kin alive and now you wish to interfere with mine?"

"See?" He said, "Can't even keep its stories straight. We're dealing with an amateur."

 

* * *

 

Varric woke to find cold stone beneath his cheek, and the scent of finely aged wine in his nose. And on his clothes, and in his hair … he pushed himself up with a pained wince and looked around in confusion. "What the …"

They were in an unfamiliar room, a wine cellar from the look of it, surrounded by a small sea of broken glass and busted kegs. The Inquisitor was lying nearby, long dark hair soaked with the stuff and her eyes shut In either sleep or unconsciousness … if what he'd seen when he'd been unceremoniously bounced out of the Fade was correct, she'd be using that Dalish bow he'd seen her with to kill the Demon-Keeper right now.

He climbed to his feet with a groan, the wound in his back had obviously not been treated, despite Lavellan's ministrations to it in the Fade. It had helped at the time, but now it felt like someone had stabbed a white hot spike into his shoulder. The room was not a large one, but it lacked a certain necessity – a door. "I'm getting too old for this shit," he muttered, walking between the stacked casks of what was probably now ancient wine, also known as vinegar, to get a better look at the walls.

"Anybody there?" He shouted experimentally. "Heeey? Anybody?"

"Ohh! OOoh! Over here!" a muffled voice on the other side exclaimed. He could almost picture Dagna jumping up and down excitedly, and pressed his ear to the wall to hear her better. "I think I hear someone!"

"Maker, we have _another_ room?" Someone else said, it sounded like Dorian.

"Stand back," Cullen's voice was sharp, and Varric stepped back from the wall. If he decided to ignore the wound on his shoulder and lean nonchalantly against one of the old casks for maximum visual effect, he would never admit to it. Though the pose was a little ruined when the sledgehammer brought the wall down along with a huge plume of dust and cobwebs, which made everyone sneeze. Still, it was worth it to see Morrigan roll her eyes before he showed them where the Inquisitor lay, and … well, he had to sit down before he fell down.

 

* * *

 

"So, I think, because of the arrow which had something of the taint on it, someone … it seems like elven magic to me … cast a spell on the wound. And that caused things to go wonky. Really wonky, you know? And that's where it got weird. Though not as weird as the taint or red lyrium, because that's the same thing, really. I think they're related. But, then this spellwork gets laid over the problem area … I think it's a container spell? Or maybe not, but when you sealed Corypheus, and all that power messed things up. A lot."

"Dagna," The Inquisitor's voice was just this side of a warning growl.

"Ah, yes ma'am! It was a protection spell," Dagna explained. "But whatever was there before is gone. I think you were crossing into the Fade because the magic you used to close the Breach affected … well, everything. A spell that was meant to protect you … didn't anymore, because you aren't the you now that you were then. Probably."

"I … see."

"I don't," Cullen said. "Are you sure she's going to be all right?"

"Probably," Dagna said. "I mean, there are still assassins out to get the Inquisition now, but that's a different problem."

"Thank you, Dagna," The Inquisitor turned to leave the undercroft, her arms folded across her chest. "We will talk to you later."

"Of course, your Worship!"

"Thank the gods I rarely go down there," Cullen whispered on the stairs. "How does Harrit stand it?"

"I think he's sweet on her," she laughed, turning to lean against the wall and smiling at him.

"Mm, in that case, I understand," he said, leaning in to kiss her. "Though, I am grateful every day that you are not quite so … enthusiastic."

"Oh? You don't think I'm enthusiastic, do you?" she laughed, teasing him.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

 

* * *

 

"I brought you three kinds of booze," Dorian announced, kicking the door to Varric's room open. The dwarf was sitting at the window, his left arm in a sling as he watched people coming and going outside. He had a pen in one hand and a sheaf of papers on the window sill, but hadn't written a word. Dorian frowned and put the bottles down on the bedside table. "Is everything all right?"

"I'm trying to write it all down before I forget," Varric explained. "But … it's just too weird. I mean … everything that's happened since the Breach began has been crazier than shit. Even if I do write it out, who's going to believe it? Hell. _I'm_ not sure I believe it, and I was there."

"Start as you began, my friend," Dorian said, taking a seat on the bed and spreading his hands. "Make it up as you go along."

"I always do," Varric grinned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Thank you all for your patience with the weirdness and the fadeness and the rest. : ) I think it got away from a little at the end, and I apologize. The next one can only improve, I hope. I've got a new story going here on that I think shows some promise. So check it out if you're interested! Thank you all again! I really appreciate the reviews and advice. I think the lesson I've learned from this is "A little fade goes a long way." Thank you again for sticking with me to the end!
> 
> Note 2: Thinking about doing more, but need to let this one cook a little bit in my head. For now, I think it's at a good pausing place.


End file.
